


your ghost, i bear

by kkeithkatt



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Druid Keith (Voltron), Getting Together, Half-Galra Keith (Voltron), Kinda, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Quintessence (Voltron), Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Time Skips, but its kinda minor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29743761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkeithkatt/pseuds/kkeithkatt
Summary: He has been a spy for so long he doesn't know who else to be.Shiro teaches him and reminds Keith what it's like to be human. Happy.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 73
Collections: Sheithlentines 2021





	your ghost, i bear

For Keith it starts like this:

There is the sound of blasters in the background as he runs, the long draping ends of his cloak licking at his heels. The feeling of magic is rich in the air, practically burning his senses and begging to be pulled at and used. Soldiers shoulder pass him, unconsciously avoiding his body like the caution sign he has become. The mask pressed against the sweating skin of his face a clear warning of the witch. It feels too tight and encompassing but he doesn’t dare to take it off. Not yet . . . .

The flash drive burns in his palm, ready to be inserted. He has only but a few minutes.

But as he runs, as the magic is warped and continues to sing against his ear, as another blast rocks the ship, he knows it will be too late. Knows it as surely as he did when Thace was compromised.

Keith’s time here at Central Command is over. But he still has one last act of defiance left.

He is suddenly glad he managed to steal Thace’s old comm. He has a feeling it will be needed and soon.

When he makes it into the control room, he sees Amadeus and Trixya and knows it's over. Thace is propped against the controls, a hand pressed against his ribs and the weary weight of pain and failure on his face. His blade gripped in a pale knuckled hand, eyebrows knit together, a look of resolve stitched into his features.

Keith recognizes that face and without a second of hesitation, he seizes forward.

Quintessence, he learned long ago, has a mind of its own. There is a sentience to it, in a way that is both knowing and unknowing. It doesn’t have any thought or instinct to it, but there is a certain frequency to it’s behavior and abilities, to the way one can utilize it, that can be capitalized on.

Usually, the quintessence within a living creature fights to stay with its host. It can recognize that if it wants to build and fester, remain healthy and whole in a way Honerva’s twisted mechanics don’t let it, that it should do so.

But when your host is just as rotten, just as deceiving and wicked, it will take the first chance it can get to escape. To become a weapon that will be released.

Keith pulls at those strings now.

As he _pushes_ , materializing behind Trixya, he reaches inside himself, where the center of his core rests, and focuses on it just long enough to guide its hand. His quintessence, his magic, reaches out and lunges like the stalking predator they have been forged into becoming.

Amadeus’s quintessence is a half eaten, dark thing. It tastes like rotting fruits, feels like the decaying corpses Keith has long since learned to dissociate himself from. It is heavy and disgusting and when his magic touches it, it flinches back with a hiss.

But Keith is stronger. Has always been so. His magic wraps around it, making Amadeus’s breath hitch, his hands stilling in their aborted move to attack, and with a vicious jerk, Keith’s attacks.

It’s a brutal display of power, one he doesn’t usually favor, but it's quicker than the subtle way he usually plays. He does not have the time to stretch this out and be careful. The coded virus must be downloaded and downloaded _now_.

As he swipes Trixya’s feet out from under him, giving Thace the opening to throw his blade out and strike, Amadeus’s magic tries to wiggle out from under Keith’s. It’s a slippery, elusive thing, but Keith’s magic is quick and heavy and beats every turn of it, following through every vein and crevice of Amadeus’s body and core. It lashes out, sinks its fangs into the spaces aborted, and whispers promises.

Quintessence touches him, questioning and eager, and he greets it back and suddenly, the defending magic submits. Amadeus falls to his knees, breath labored, and with a growl, Keith shoves hard.

Magic and quintessence visibly erupt from within the druid, shooting from within him to reach out and wrap around grey, cloth covered limbs. Amadeus’s skin shows cracks of dark purple light, the color sickly, and he twitches with the sudden surge of energy. His body is not equipped for this much magic at a rate that fast and thick streams of blood drip down his nose and ears and begin to leak from the corners of his eyes. Until, with another pulse of Keith’s own magic, the streams become thicker and rush down faster. Amadeus releases a silent scream, jaw relaxed but vocal cords already torn into shreds, and slumps down onto his front. His body is squeezed tight, like he’s been wrapped up in tight strings, and as they become tighter and tighter, the quintessence leaving him and collecting into the air as he pants, magic takes over his body.

When he drops fully, eyes open wide, heart still in Keith’s invisible hands, the magic snaps and returns to Keith’s reserve. Amadeus’s quintessence remains in the air before it settles, crackling with a surge of energy. With another gentle nudge of his magic, it wraps around the metal beams of the ship and sinks it, traveling across and through its surface in a way science says should be impossible. Waiting for his call.

Keith turns to Thace then, who has picked up his sword once more, and yanks off his mask. His own druid robes feel damning, especially with the blood that now stains their hems, but at least he no longer wears the cursed face.

He doesn’t know the last time he bore his face to another, much less to a fellow Blade, but Thace thankfully recognizes him and the relief is visible in his shoulders as he slumps and lowers his sword, the blade shortening back into the resting state of a dagger.

“Yorak.” He greets, Keith's Galra cover name still foreign to his ears, even after all these years. “It has been many moons now.”

Keith had gone undercover long before Thace had made it this far. He had been just a kit, the last time their eyes had met. He’s still somewhat surprised by the quick recollection.

“Yes.” He agrees. “Leader requires my assistance once more.” _My cover is done here_ , he doesn’t say. He doesn’t need to. Thace already knows.

His discovery was a bigger hit than they would expect. It will cause problems later, they both know.

For now, it is ignored.

“The passwords have changed.” Thace says, turning his body around to the controls. “I cannot bring down the barrier.”

Keith releases his fingers, exposing the flashdrive. “Yllka was most helpful.” He answers the unasked question.

Thace takes the drive without comment, sticking it into the port and beginning his work. Keith has never been good at this sort of technical action and leaves him to it, angling himself so that he can watch the door.

He stretches out his magic, searching, and probes the rushing souls as they unknowingly run past them. None are yet coming their way.

“What has Leader told you?” Thace asks him, the echoing of tapping keys behind his words.

“Little.” He replies, eyes still forward. “There wasn’t time. I was instructed to help you, by any means necessary.” Keith suspects Kolivan had not wanted to include him, and within good reason. Whatever the mission, and he has a strong hunch on it, it must be a very important one.

“Voltron is taking the fight to the Emperor.” Thace informs him. Keith already knows this part of course, having sensed the arrival of the Black Lion the second it arrived within his range. “They have allied with the Blade. There is a virus on my own drive to download. It will bring everything down, long enough for them to attack head on.”

“Any means of escape?” He asks. The answer matters very little to him. Keith’s life has been on a very dangerous tightrope for years. His death will mean next to nothing now. His purpose fulfilled now that he’s blown his cover as a spy.

“The Green Lion should be ready to pick us up. Did you manage to acquire my comm?”

Wordlessly, Keith hands it over. He probes some passing soldiers as he does so. Still, no one is heading their way. He stretches his magic out a little farther, searching for any druids. Afterall, there are two of his ex-comrades left as well as the main witch herself.

None are near.

Thace makes a chirping noise in the back of his throat as he diverts his attention away long enough to contact the Blade. Keith doesn't know his password, as a means of protection, and had been unable to send the message himself so he’s partially relieved when Thace confirms that they will be picked up as soon as the virus is in.

Which, after another minute, it is.

“Come, we must leave. And fast.”

Keith follows Thace out the room and down the hall.

A group of soldiers, arms laden with guns, marches towards them and Keith drops down into a crouch, his leg swinging out around him. As it swipes the air cleanly, magic follows through the movement in a blue wave that knocks all the soldiers back. They fall to the ground, unconscious. He stretches out of the movement easily, continuing to run with Thace as if nothing had happened.

The Galra shoots him a look. “Impressive.”  
  
Keith snorts. “Magic has its uses.”

They make it to the loading docks and Thace slams his hand into a sensor, which allows the doors to shut behind them with a loud slam of finality. Keith reaches down where a soldier is slumped, dead, and jerks his helmet off, tossing it to Thace who easily catches it. With an arched brow thrown at him, Keith waves a hand over his own face, where his mask materializes once more.

“This is more than a decoration.” He tells the man and Thace nods, before running towards the doors. Keith walks over to the controls, typing in some codes that bring up the sensors. With a press of his hand, the latch releases and the door to deep space opens with a rush of forceful, sucking air. Thace follows the movement and Keith follows his fall.

Immediately, they are captured in the mouth of a robotic lion.

With a roll, they straighten themselves and exchange a quick, questioning look. Together, they walk further into the famed Voltron lion and are quickly met with the control center, where a small figure sits in the seat. They turn back to them with a quick flash of a grin.

Keith eyes their pale, pale skin and the excited eyes. Terran.

He had known already, of course, but still. He knows very few humans. The sight is jarring, when he’s not in front of a mirror. Alien and foreign to his own eyes. He doesn’t think about that too long.

His own species should not be a question to him and yet.

“Thace?” The terran asks, voice high and questioning. Female, he assumes. “I’m Pidge, the green paladin.”

“Pidge.” The taller Blade greets with a sharp nod. “Pleasure to meet you. Thank you for the rescue.”

Pidge waves it off with a quick move of her hand, her gaze darting to Keith before returning to her path ahead. “Who’s your friend? This the other spy?”

Keith wants to snort because honestly who else would he be? But Thace is kinder than him and just reassures the paladin that Keith is in fact another Blade and yes, he is the “other” spy.

He wonders what Kolivan told Voltron about him.

Pidge hums as she jerks her controls, steering her lion into a sharp dive to avoid a ship that tried to ram into them, with another jerk she shoots back at it with a blast of energy that has Keith’s magic purring pleasantly.

“You’re a druid then?” She tosses over her shoulder, voice loud and wide.

He says nothing, thinking over his reply. Her tone, though forcefully calm, betrays her thoughts. She does not trust him, is wary, and he cannot fault her for it, as much as it hurts.

“No.” He says and turns away from both her and Thace to stare out one of the lion's windows.

“But-” He turns out Pidge’s voice too, closing his eyes so he can focus.

He thinks about the ship he had just abandoned, of the fight with the other druids, and the free flowing quintessence that still awaits his call. He reaches for it, forcing down a shudder at it’s cold touch, and guides it to stretch further, infect the dead ship while it can. It does, eagerly, and he can feel the quintessence thin out until he has a quiet hand upon the whole ship, little strings connecting bars upon bars, inked and etched into the metal like tiny tattoos. He grabs a hold of those strings again and yanks.

Part of the ship explodes, metal bending and destroying under him once more. He hears Pidge shout in appreciation, feels Thace staring at him, and ignores it. He turns to the rest of him, focusing once more.

Honerva and her inner core of druids all share a bond between them, though he suspects his side of the bond is more … free than the others. It is how he had found where Amadeus and Trixya were so quickly, how he is able to locate the other druids with ease. It is how he knows the other druids are still alive. They have been with each other for so long that their magic recognizes each other. They have worked together frequently enough that the magic has weaved between each other, like wandering hands searching for others to hold. It’s this bond that allows them to join together, quickly, and perform the rituals required to make Honerva’s monsters.

He uses this bond now to track them, searching out for their life force. He finds Vetone first, her magic more careless than the others. Macidus is next, his magic angry and biting. Both of them reach back, calling for him.

Keith quickly realizes they are with Honerva.

They do not yet know of his deception.

He opens his eyes and meets Thace’s own, who has been steadily staring at him.

“The witch is aboard the Altean ship. I must go.”

Pidge exclaims in shock, as just that moment her communications to the castleship are cut off. Thace gains a nervous twist of his mouth but nods anyway, careful and cautious.

“I can’t drop you off yet-!”

He cuts her panicking words off. “I don’t require you too.” And with a flash, he is gone.

A second later, he finds himself aboard an unfamiliar ship, where the floors are disturbingly white and the soft glow of Altean alchemy is woven into its inner workings. He feels the hum of it, even with its connection temporarily severed.

Quickly looking around, he spots the familiar robes of the druids and then, right beside them, the tight suits of the Blade. By their wrappings, he knows them to be Kolivan and Antok. Ahead of them, Honerva fights with a thin figure covered in a white suit. Keith guesses this is the infamous Princess Allura. His quintessence reaches for her first, wondering, and when the returning probe is given he turns away from her.

The Princess can handle herself, even if she doesn’t know it. Honerva will be facing a surprise soon, he thinks.

He watches as Vetone throws a stab of magic towards Antok and with another surge of his own, Keith materializes in front of the man, hastily casting a barrier between them in time to repel the attack.

It gets absorbed by his shield and with a push of his palms outward, the magic surges around them, forcing Vetone back a few steps. The druids, he knows, sneers at him behind her mask.

“Traitor!” She accuses him, always a quick one, and he doesn’t bother arguing with her or throwing a witty retort of any kind. Instead he fists his hand and drags it through the air in a downward arch before he uncurls his fingers and twists them. Magic stretches out between them, wild and hissing. Vetone jabs at it in return, grabbing ahold of the squirming energy and tries to contain it. Some bends to her will, but some continues to grow, lashing out at her and cutting through her robes, down to her skin and through bone.

She screams and in her pain and anger, the contained energy is released with a sudden burst, rushing towards and around them in a circle. It shoves at all of them, making everyone jerk and step back a little. Keith is forced to erect another shield around them so that it doesn’t burn their skin off.

Macidus, who is fighting Kolivan, sees what is happening and echoes Vetone’s shout with rage. Betrayal singes through their bond, infuriated, and he feels Honerva’s echoing burn in return.

He flinches but hides it away with a twist of his body. 

Keith drops down, knees almost touching down near his feet, and with a deep breath, gathers as much of his quintessence as he can as quickly as he can. It collects in his palms and he guides it up his body as he stands before forcing it away with a shout.

The magic surges forward, cutting through the air with a loud crack, breaks through Vetone’s flimsy barrier, and strikes her fully in the chest. She stumbles back and falls and he turns away.

He feels her side of the bond fall, crashing down with a finality that signifies her death.

Antok looks back at him and wordlessly, they turn towards Kolivan. Keith wraps his hand around Antok’s bicep before teleporting them away. They reappear behind Macidus, who has already felt their approach, and before the other can blink, two blades are shoved into his body by Kolivan and Antok.

Macidus shrieks and teleports away, the bond crippling as his lifeforce drains away.

Keith wonders if he’ll make it. Luxite is unforgiving, when it connects to the druids magic, tainted as it is.

Kolivan joins them and gives Keith a steady nod, unsurprised by his sudden presence.

Keith answers him anyway. “I felt the druids were near you all. I came.”

Leader studies his face, or rather the mask still covering it, and gives another nod, this one slow. When a shout rings out, they all turn as the Witch disappears, the princess left standing alone, her body glowing with the hum of her magic.

Keith hides a smile.

Haltingly and with a question clear on her frame still, Allura heads over to them, barely glancing at Keith. “Coran! Reconnect the comms!” Her commanding tone has even him straightening and not even a minute later, the ship is sparking back to life with a relieved sigh of energy, happy to awaken once more.

Silently, they all rush forward, towards the other Altean man who is staring up at his screens anxiously. Keith hears many shouts over the comms, the other paladins he assumes, and watches. The Princess sides up next to him and the Blades remain quiet as they all talk with each other, tense but happy.

  
They watch the battle resume.  
  


And they watch as Voltron disbands, their lights dimming and the lions float in space, lifeless and disturbingly silent. Allura and Coran are shouting over the comms, clearly worried and trying hard not to be panicking but failing. No one responds to them and, after several minutes of this, Kolivan turns to Keith.

Without being asked, Keith gives a nod and disappears.

He reappears inside the Black Lion, where a man is slumped in his pilot chair. 

He recognizes him. The Champion, he had once been. He wonders what the man sees himself as now.

Keith rushes up to his side, his quintessence being released slightly to question the others. He is happy to feel a response, slow and sluggish it may be. He glances around, quickly, and presses a button, his body acting as a temporary energy source.

“They’re alive.” He says, feeling around this man’s quintessence to follow the bond he immediately recognizes as that of the one between the other paladins. “They’re quintessence has been disturbed by the attack.”

Allura’s voice speaks around him, obviously relieved but still stern. “Can you wake them?” She asks.

He turns back to the man, who is still slumped back in his seat. Keith presses a hand against his forearm, above the thick material of his armour. It is much thicker than the robes he himself wears. Closing his eyes, Keith sends a small brush of his magic out.

A few seconds later, the man jerks forward. Before he can react, there's a hand wrapping around his wrist and shoving Keith into the controls behind him.

“Calm yourself.” He defends. “I’m one of the Blades.”

The paladin’s gaze holds distrust, eyes wide and sharp with unease but he soon relaxes. “You’re the druid.”

“No. I’m the spy, yes. Not a druid.”

“But-?” There’s a questioning sweep over his robes but Keith ignores this.

Fortunately, Princess Allura interrupts them.

“Shiro!” She yells. “Are you alright? Can you wake the others?”

She does not address Keith himself. He expects this.

The man, Shiro, shakes his head, running a shaking hand over his helmet.

  
Keith stands silently to the side as Voltron speaks to each other, talking and assuring each other, and soon the battle resumes again and Keith stays as Honerva prepares another attack.

And then, suddenly, he feels it. And then he sees it.

The quintessence is thick in the air, practically filling all of his nerves and tugging at them like the eager hands of children.

He looks past, to where Shiro's soul shines bright and hot and he knows, before even thinking about it, that she cannot have him.

Keith reaches out, hands settling upon Shiro’s, his quintessence grabbing a hold of Shiro’s own. He feels the tug of the Witch, her hungry angry tug, and _yanks_.

This is his human now. She cannot have him. Never again.

The feeling of the attack is overwhelming. He hasn’t felt magic like this in many decaphoebs, not since he was young and they had tested him. Tested his abilities and his loyalty.

Unlike then, Keith pushes back at her.

She cannot, will not, have him. Any of them.

Magic most evil and corrupted is between them, rushing over Voltron and seeping its way into its bond. Keith follows it with the trained hand of an experienced fighter. He knows, before he can consider it, where she will go, where she will find them lacking. He knows where Voltron’s own quintessence will pool and yank from. He doesn’t quite know how but he does.

He wraps his quintessence around Shiro, like the arms of his own mother once had with him, and collects the quivering, frozen form of the man tight. He breathes through his nose, attacking Honerva’s magic as it brushes against the untrained quintessence of the paladins, as she tries to eat them away like the parasite she is.

He feels her as she bombards the Black Lion, the Black Paladin, feels it as Voltron does the same, as Shiro’s quintessence reaches out, unknowing but sacrificing as it is nonetheless, and he reaches out with his own, covering Shiro’s faltering movements with his own more assured ones.

Honerva’s magic sinks deeper, coils around them, and he knows, distantly, that he has fallen to his knees. Still, he does not let go and he does not stop.

The attack pushes and shoves at his own, both equal and prideful, until, suddenly, there is a give and she retreats.

Black ebbs around him and he feels himself fall, feels his hands leave Shiro’s body as he slumps towards the ground.

The brief second of victory is all he gets before everything is gone.

* * *

  
  


In another life, Keith thinks things would have gone differently.

Somewhere, he was raised on Earth. Maybe his father wasn’t killed that night the Empire traced his mother down to terra. Maybe Keith was born looking just a little more human, a little less odd, and was kept safe on the dirt planet of old. Maybe his mother left them, rejoined the Blades, and he never saw her again. Maybe. Maybe he had grown up human and maybe he met Voltron’s paladins a lot earlier.

Maybe.

Or maybe in another life he was born more like Honerva and Princess Allura. Maybe his mother was of the fairer, a more gentle species of the Alteans. Maybe he would have grown up on that sleek, technologicalized planet with rich flowers and crystalline lakes. Or maybe he’d have fallen out of a cryopod, thousands upon hundreds of years later. Maybe he would have learned a more forgiving and trusting kind of alchemy and he wouldn’t bear the scars of his crimes.

Maybe.

But Keith’s life had never been as forgiving and kind as either of those realities and, on heavy nights full of blood filled lungs and electrified air, he envies those other versions of himself. He had never had the luxury of a peaceful childhood, free of war and strife and betrayal. Had never had a childhood to begin with. People like him were born with a weapon in hand, death across their skin for all the stars to see. He knew this to be true and had accepted it long, long ago.

When he opens his eyes for the first time in who knows how long, the battle and escape flashing behind pale eyelids, there is no panic or confusion. Keith’s fallen and stepped out of cryopods more times than he can count. The experience is not a new one and already his brain is catching up.

He is falling again, yes, but things are not the same.

Because this time, he is greeted with light and the shimmering of pixels. The room is pale and too bright, brighter and cleaner than anything he’s ever seen. Hands are reaching out, catching him and bracing his fall. He does not know them. Doesn’t know where he is. A snarl is ripped out between his teeth before he can stop himself and weakly, he tries to wrench himself from their grasp.

_They cannot have you!_

“Keith.” A voice cuts through his haze, calm and familiar. He knows this voice. Leader. _Kolivan_. “You are safe, my kit.” A purr reaches his ears, low and comforting, and unwillingly, his shoulders relax.

Even after all the time away, Kolivan’s presence still brings him peace. He can feel the blush staining his cheeks pink. How embarrassing it is, to act so young still.

A small part of him had thought he would never see him again.

The arms around him let him go and he sways but thankfully no one tries to touch him as he manages to steady himself, if only barely enough. The blood is rushing through his legs and there’s a headache steadily building behind his forehead. He feels weak, far beyond his usual, and it has him clenching his jaw tight.

“Leader.” He croaks, voice raspy with unuse. He does not sound like himself but then again, he’s not sure he ever truly found his own voice.

(He had been Yorak for a long time….)

“You are aboard the Altean castleship.” Kolivan tells him, stepping forward. He is in his Blade uniform, like always. The mask is down, his face bare and relaxed but still withdrawn. Purposely blank. There is a gentle pinch of his eyes though, the kind of thing only Keith himself would notice, and he has to fight off the smile it brings. “You have been healing in the medbay, within one of the altean pods. It has been one and a half movements since the battle with Emperor Zarkon.”

Over 10 quintants, 10 days since the battle. He has been in a coma for too long.

“What has happened?” He asks the most important question right now. _What is to come of me?_

“You saved my life.” An unfamiliar voice responds to him and Keith turns, slowly, towards it.

He meets grey eyes. The once Champion, Shiro, looks back at him, something warm in his gaze that makes Keith want to shift uncomfortably.

_Prisoner 117-9875. Terran. Send to the gladiator rings… prime for experimentation…._

“It was nothing.” He says flatly, waving the obvious incoming thanks away. He does not want it.

Shiro does not take the bait, his form tightening just a little as he straightens himself. The look is familiar, bringing him back to those fights in the sand, when a tiny human would square its shoulders and bear its teeth like it were a ferocious beast and not mere prey.

They had learned the truth quickly.

“Allura and Coran already told us that Haggar’s attack would have killed me. Voltron’s energy levels confirmed it. You _did_ save my life.”  
  
Damn it. The Alteans are more familiar with quintessence than he had thought. And humans, it seems, were more inclined towards honor and debt than he thought.

“Thank you.” Shiro continues when it becomes clear Keith will not be responding. He nods stiffly at him and turns back to Kolivan, who stands straight and quiet. Seeing his attention returned, Leader interrupts before any more can be said.

“Your cover has been blown, clearly, and so you cannot return to the field. The druids and Zarkon have not been seen at all since the battle. Their current condition remains unknown.”  
  
“I killed three of the druids.” He tells Kolivan, feeling distantly removed. He pointedly ignores a gasp from his left, no doubt from one of the terrans. “The Witch is likely weakened, but still decidedly alive. Others will refill the ranks soon, if not already.”

The druids, though small in number, are not gone. Not yet. She still has enough resources.

For now.

“How the quiznack did you kill a druid?” A loud, brash boy interrupts and Keith spares him a single glance.

The small paladin, Pidge, quickly answers. “He’s a druid. Of course he’d know how.”

Keith feels his mouth tighten but does not correct her. Habit quells the instinctual need to correct and he knows, already, that they will not listen to him.

Another paladin, this one taller and broader than the rest, squeaks. “A druid?! Dude!”  
  


Kolivan cuts across them, voice stern and oddly stiff. Defensive and protective in a way Keith barely remembers. “Keith is not a druid. He has a connection similar to the druids, yes, but he is not one.”

“Explain the robes then!” The loud boy counters, jabbing a finger at them.

Kolivan fixes him with a flat, unimpressed stare. “He was a spy.”

“A druid spy!”

Keith glares at him. Already, he dislikes this loud child. “I have the ability to blend in enough with the druids that they think I am one of them. But I am _not_ a druid. I am a Blade, a galran, and the druids are, despite common belief, not galran.”

“What?!” The other boy yells but Keith and Kolivan ignore him, done with this pointless squabbling, and turn back to each other.

“Your body has healed enough, though Coran has reported you will be weak for a while. The magic you used has affected you greatly, kit.” 

_“You must be careful not to push too far. There can be... consequences.”_

And Keith feels it. Where his core usually hums, strong and lively and wild, it is now quiet. Small. The fight with Honerva had cost him greatly, more than just the weak shakiness he feels in his hands and knees. It will take much time for him to regain his strength again.

He has not been this weak ever. It makes something ugly fester in his gut.

“What are my orders then, Leader?” He asks quietly, feeling small. Like a kit. Useless.

He has been a spy for decaphoebs. He doesn’t know what else to be, who else to be.

Yorak was capable and strong and beyond useful. The perfectly placed spy. And now he is here, tired and weak and a failure. Kolivan doesn’t need to voice his disappointment, Keith knows it is there. He feels it rotting away inside of him.

The loss of such a vital position will be heavy.

“Rest.” Kolivan says immediately and Keith shoots him a bewildered look despite himself. “You need to heal, my kit, before I can send you anywhere in the field. You know this.”  
  
“But-”

“You shall remain here.” Kolivan continues, cutting him off. Several people shout out at once but they ignore them again. “You will be an ambassador for the Blades, between us and Team Voltron. The Alteans are better equipped to help you heal than we are.” And how it must hurt him to admit that. “You shall be my voice.”  
  
_My eyes and ears,_ he doesn’t say. But Keith knows better.

The ground between Voltron and the Blades must still be new and shaky for Leader to want him to remain here. Uncertain. Keith shall navigate it alone, as he once had with the druids.

At least the paladins are unlikely to slaughter him, he thinks wryly.

“Yes Leader.” He dutifully replies _. I understand_.

“Good.” The taller Galra nods once. He turns away and faces the Princess, who is standing to the side with a heavy frown on her face. It doesn’t make her any less beautiful. “Thank you once again, Princess. The Blade of Marmora appreciates your generosity with housing and healing one of our own.”  
  
The frown remains as she responds in kind. “Voltron is happy to aid one so willing to save our Black Paladin’s life. You honor us.”

His presence here, Keith realizes, is not wholly welcomed but grudgingly provided regardless.

He looks away from the Princess. Distrust has been his shadow for decaphoebs, it matters not now.

Kolivan turns back to him. “I expect the usual reports.” Every movement then. “Keep me updated on your progress. I trust your judgement, Keith.”

And with that Kolivan leaves the room without a backward glance. So much like Keith himself had left, all those years ago.

An uncomfortable silence settles around them. The paladins and alteans stare at Keith and he, in turns, pretends he doesn’t see them.

“Well.” The loud one says suddenly. “Keith is a weird name for a Galra.”

Keith closes his eyes. Damn Kolivan for deserting him here. He’d rather have been on paperwork duty at base.

Someone clears their throat awkwardly, the noise cutting through the too-loud chatter, and reluctantly, Keith looks over to the older altean man. Coran, he thinks.

“Well,” He claps his hands, forcing a grin on his face though it looks too forced to be any sort of comfort to anyone “best look at you, Number 4.” He waves Keith over, patting a table that Keith 100% does not want to sit on.

“Hey!” Pidge yells, face twisting into faux-outrage. “I thought I was Number 4!”

Coran tuts, moving aside so Keith can sit down comfortably. “You were until Number 4 got here. He’s taller than you.”

Pidge pouts, shooting Keith and Coran a look, but doesn’t seem too bothered by it as she then turns to the younger boys. “You want to go play video games?”

“Yes! Thank God!” The loud one exclaims, waving his arms around like a restless kit. “It’s beyond awkward in here!”

“Lance!” The other boy hisses, obviously looking at Keith now. The boy, Lance, ignores him and drags Pidge out the door.

Pidge, not to be ignored, quickly yells over her shoulder. “Hunk! Come on!”  
  


Hunk gives Keith another obvious, nervous look before stumbling out the door.

As soon as it slides behind them, Shiro releases a tired sigh. “I’m sorry about them. They’re a bit…” 

He side eyes Coran as the man scans him with a remote, presumably checking some vitals. “They are children. It is expected.”

A small smile graces Shiro’s exhausted face. Princess Allura clears her throat.

“Yorak.”

“Keith.” He immediately corrects, the name feeling foreign on his tongue still.

“I- right. Keith. I want to assure you that Coran and I will do our utmost to get you back to your old self. Healing you is the least we can do for what you have done for us.” She smiles at him then, her face softening into something more genuine and for once Keith doesn’t feel like an intruder. 

“I appreciate that, Princess.” He says, loss at what else to say.

She smiles a little more. “Please, call me Allura. You will be living here and we are allies now. There is no need for honorifics.” He says nothing, just dipping his head in a nod, but she takes it before going on. “As you will likely be with us for some time, I was wondering if I could, perhaps, ask a favor.”

He stills but forces his limbs to relax when Coran looks up at him. He isn’t within the Empire anymore. No matter what, any favor she could ask of him can’t be like the ones he is used to. “We are allies, Princess Allura. What is it I can do for Voltron?”

She clears her throat loudly and Shiro looks over at her, confusion blatantly painted over his features. There isn’t anything awkward or twitchy about her but Keith gets the impression, somehow, that she’s nervous.

“Actually, the favor is for me.” She says, voice quiet and this time, Coran looks at her. “I just, well, you-”

“You are wondering about your quintessence abilities.” Keith guesses, feeling years younger.

“Yes.” She confesses, looking away from Coran.

He had been her once, years and years ago. Much smaller and less capable, for sure, but the same nonetheless. This shared connection between them runs hot and he can’t tell if the feeling is too stifling or not, a warning or a comfort.

“I was under the impression that alteans were well aware of their alchemic skills.” He hedges, unsure of what exactly it is she wants from him. Both of the alteans nod at his words though.

“We are. I am.” Allura confirms, meeting his gaze head on. Her eyes are much more open than his own, wide and glowing with a desire he is intimately familiar with. “It’s just that I never received proper training for them. By the time my abilities manifested, father could only teach me so much. War with Zarkon was on the horizon and we had other priorities.”

“You want me to teach you.”

Allura nods, not looking unsure at all. She is convinced, already, that this is the right thing and that he will not deny her. She is right.

“It won’t be easy,” Keith warns her. “Our abilities are more similar than mine are to the druids but there are some differences.”  
  
“I understand.” She assures him, the smile returning to her face. This one is less gentle gratitude and acceptance and more like reassuring platitude. “I’m sure we will be able to manage.”

It is a challenge and half he may be but a galra he still is. She is determined, very much so, and so much like him that it hurts.

He resists the urge to gnaw on his lip. He also ignores the pressing of forcefully forgotten memories. This will not be like his own lessons. He is not Honerva.

“Very well. I will teach you what I can.”

Allura gives him her thanks and then Coran interrupts, confirming what they already know.

“Your energy levels are dangerously low. You’ll be tired for awhile so I suggest taking things easy. Eat high energy foods. I’ll make sure Hunk knows. But physically, you have no injuries to heal. You just need time, my boy.”

_My kit._

He swallows. “Okay.”

Allura and Coran leave not long after that and then, it’s just him and the Champion. Shiro.

Keith takes one look at his metal arm and walks out, determined to find his room somehow.

He has faced enough ghosts and guilt today. The Champion will wait.

  
  


* * *

  
  


For the first several quintants, they avoid each other.

The paladins watch him with wary eyes every time they see him, their voices faltering and falling quiet whenever he appears around them. They do not speak with him, do not try to engage him in any way. Coran shooks him nervous smiles every now and then but remains silent. Princess Allura, in contrast, eyes him with a hard stare and an even harder frown. She doesn’t know how to feel about him yet and it’s a very hot/cold kind of relationship.

The exception, somehow, is the black paladin. The Champion. _Shiro_.

At first, Keith chalks the oddly warm smiles and quiet greetings as a sense of responsibility. No matter how much he wishes to avoid the matter, it is unquestionable that Keith saved the man’s life. Perhaps he feels obligated to try and welcome Keith here. To acknowledge him.

Keith does not require a falsehood of friendship though. He never has.

He answers Shiro’s daily good morning’s and how are you's with a silent nod and a cool stare. Eventually, he thinks, the man will give up his endeavor.

He does not.

Instead, Shiro continues to greet him. Only now, he starts bringing Keith odd foods. Often it's some crumbly thing Shiro calls a “muffin”. Under watchful, expectant eyes, Keith begrudgingly eats it and, to himself alone, enjoys it.

Shiro keeps bringing them so he must know how good they are. Keith knows Hunk, the big paladin of the yellow lion, is the one to make them. He is a good baker, Keith thinks. Good with his hands.

Shiro also brings round, small disks that are known as cookies. They are sweet, always, but the flavor changes constantly. Keith doesn’t quite understand how they can all be cookies when they taste so differently but he doesn’t question it.

He doesn’t want to give Shiro the impression that Keith can and will hold a conversation.

He stays standoffish and silent. Always.

Shiro keeps coming anyway.

Hunk bakes bread often and Shiro likes to share a small loaf with Keith when he does. The texture is soft and delicate. Fluffy yet rich in a quiet sort of way.

Terran food, he learns, is quite good. It is not at all like galran cuisine, which consists mostly of meats. Humans are much more varied in their tastes.

He kind of likes it.

It’s a nice if not big change from the meals he had had at Central Command. In the Blade base. He wonders sometimes if his father, human that he was, would have baked muffins and cookies and bread for him. If he would have liked them all.

He thinks he would have. Mom always spoke so fondly of his father’s cooking.

He will never know though, of course. The time for those chances is long gone and forgotten.

Shiro finds him for other things than snacks though. He has the habit of meeting Keith in the training room, where every day the Blade fights like his life depends upon it. He’s still healing and he knows if Kolivan were here he would have yelled at him and tucked Keith back into bed but Shiro doesn’t say a thing. He just watches Keith fight the, admittedly cool, training robot. And then one day Shiro casually swaps himself in for the robot's place. Still, as neat as the robot is, fighting against an actual opponent, especially one as good as Shiro, is much better.

Shiro doesn’t talk to him during those sessions. At least not with words. Instead he speaks with quick kicks and traded jabs of his fist and the occasional sword. He speaks with a calculating gaze and pained grunts. Keith builds bruises over bruises and grins the whole time.

Keith knows this language better than any other and he much prefers it over the spoken tongue of the humans. Shiro doesn’t seem to mind it and so Keith finds himself liking and appreciating these training sessions more than he should.

It has been a long time since anyone trained with him like this. He misses it. Shiro seems to like the challenge too and that makes something flutter in Keith’s chest, something bashful and fast.

They have a good, mostly quiet, communication between them and Keith thinks that at least with Shiro he has a friendly face. They’re not friends though. Not yet.

Keith can’t afford that.

Everything changes after three movements though.

It is within the night cycle that it happens. Keith is on the observation deck, his secret hideout. Barely anyone comes in here, he has noticed, and so he often sits in here during the night. He has a room of course, but there are no glass windows there. He cannot see the stars in the room and for someone raised among them, it is a disconcerting feeling.

He sleeps on the floor of the deck more than he cares to admit.

He doubts anyone knows though and that night, Shiro proves it when, around halfway through their sleeping cycle, the man steps through the sliding doors on quiet feet.

He jolts back in surprise when he sees Keith. His eyes are wide, his breathing fast. There is sweat along his hairline and his sleep clothes are rumpled like he’s been moving a lot. He is in clear contrast to Keith, who stands in his old (now new?) Blade uniform, primed for a battle that isn’t (presently) happening.

A nightmare, Keith realizes in that quick look. He is intimately familiar with this look.

“Keith.” Shiro greets, sounding half questioning. Keith stares back at him, calm and trying to look less surprised than he is. “I didn’t realize…” He trails off.

He half smiles, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. Keith bristles slightly at the movement. How humans can expose their necks like that, he’ll never understand.

“I can leave if you want?” The man offers, gaze hazing over a little as he seems to lose himself. His eyes drift over to the open stars, watchful but oddly distant. “I’ll just-”  
  
Surprising both of them, Keith speaks up.

“It is no bother, paladin. You may stay.”

Shiro’s eyes are, somehow, even wider and his lips part a little to match. He wonders idly if Shiro had forgotten what his voice sounded like. Keith feels a smile wanting to appear, amused as he finds he is, but he pushes the action back.

“O-Okay. Sure. Great.” Shiro stammers, padding further into the room. He walks towards Keith, who stands right in the center of the farthest, longest window, where the exposure is greatest. He stands a few feet away from him, a safe respectable distance, and locks his gaze forward.

They are quiet for a long time.

And then Shiro breaks it again, voice barely louder than his previous silence.

“I always loved the stars. Space.” He sounds wistful. More peaceful than Keith thinks he’s ever heard the man be. There is a soft gentleness to his face and features he’s never seen, like Shiro would choose to right here more than anything else. Like he’s truly relaxed. Here. With Keith. “I couldn’t imagine growing up surrounded by them. Up here…” He swallows. “It just feels so unreal, even after all this time.”

He eyes the line of Shiro’s jaw, down his bare throat where his pulse steadily beats. “I have known nothing but the stars.”

Shiro turns to him and his face retains that same impossible softness.

“Yeah? What is it like?”  
  
Keith swallows, looks out towards the stars and then back at Shiro. He thinks, for a moment, about not answering but that feels as impossible as anything.

“Lonely.” He confesses. “I have gone from ship to ship. Always moving. Always above. I have never lived planetside. Never truly had a home. The stars are… so big. And I... so small.”

Shiro hums, still looking at him. “I never thought of it that way. What about when you were younger?” Before, he knows the paladin means. Before Keith had been a spy.

Keith scuffs the toe of his boot across the floor, relishing in the small scraping squeak of tile that answers him. “I was at base, with Leader, sometimes. But often I was aboard a ship, moving. I am young to them. The youngest, truly. They wished to protect me. Keep me away from the war for as long as they could.”

There is a question in Shiro's eyes, wedged between his furrowed brows and pouting lips. “Wait. I thought-? When did you, ya know, join the druids?”  
  
Keith smiles, something bitter and crooked. “Young enough. I was around 10 of your years, I think.”  
  
“10?!” Shiro gapes. “What the hell for?”  
  


He looks back down at his boots. The suit is new. When he was younger, he had worn a similar suit in style with the Blade uniforms. When he became a spy, there was no need for him to have one. Too dangerous it was. It had taken him a lot of time convincing Kolivan to even give him a Blade. Now that he's returned to their ranks, to them, he has another again. It is both familiarly comforting and oddly disconfirming.

He feels alien, even here.

“We had received intel that the druids were looking to grow their numbers. You see, the druids are primarily a specific species, from an old, long destroyed planet. No one knows their exact origins but there are very few beings with their abilities.”

“You said they weren’t galran. Before.” Shiro remembers and Keith nods.

“The druids are old and rare. They are all but extinct, much like the Alteans.” He shoots Shiro a look. “And also like the Altean alchemists of old, they hold a connection to quintessence. The ability to manipulate it.”

“Like Allura did when she got the balmeran crystals,” interrupts Shiro. Keith doesn’t know what exactly he’s talking about but he understands the concept enough.

“Similar, yes.” He confirms. “Altean alchemists share a relationship with quintessence. A sort of give and take. They can utilize quintessence in the form of alchemy in exchange for a sense of power. The druids however do not share this relationship. Where the Alteans give some of their energy in exchange for the quintessence use, the druids merely take it and weaponize it. They sap up the energy, taking all of it and leaving nothing.”

Shiro’s brow knits but slowly he nods. “When we were on the Balmera, it was explained like this somewhat.”

Keith continues. “So Alteans give and share and druids take. They are similar in their uses, yes, but vastly different. The Witch uses the druid's powers to weaponize quintessence for the Empire’s disposal.”

“Where do you come in then?” Shiro asks, voice only curious. There is no judgement, so unlike all the others Keith has known. “You said you’re not a druid and you’re clearly not an altean.”

They share a rueful look before he responds.

“I learned very early on that I held a connection to quintessence. The Blades do not use quintessence like the Empire does but we were often around it. Our ships, for example, hold a small core of raw quintessence that powers the ship in emergencies. I could sense this, long before I knew what exactly it was. “ He grins and Shiro’s mouth mirrors the move. “I didn’t know what I could do until I was 8 decaphoebs old though.”

He looks away then, back towards the stars. They are painted gold around red and purple swirls. The colors are nothing like he’s ever seen. Never has the space around him looked like anything, always changing and always different.

It is both fascinating and horrifying.

“What happened?” Shiro brings him back.

Keith turns back to him. The stars cast a purple shadow onto Shiro’s pale cheeks.

Beautiful, he thinks.

Then he coughs. “Right. A mission had gone wrong. One of our own returned, heavily injured. They had encountered one of the druids and had been struck by their magic. A gash had stretched right down their chest,” He draws a line down across, from his shoulder down to his hip and Shiro winces. “There was so much going on. Many were shouting. You cannot heal a magical wound like that easily.” Shiro knows this and they both know that. He says it anyway. “They did not notice me in their fear. They thought she would die.”

Keith bites the inside of his cheek. He remembers the day very well. It had changed his life. Entirely. For the better or worse, he’s still trying to decide.

“I walked closer to see, to know what was going on, and before anyone could shove me back, I had touched her. And then I felt it. A pull, like a sudden lurch in my stomach as if I had lost my gravity. And then her hand was warm. Then hot. And I felt that pull deepen until suddenly my hands were glowing and my head hurt. This blue light started out from where we were touching and I just watched as it clawed up her arm, through her shoulder, and down her chest. It seeped into the wound. Made it glow so bright my eyes hurt. I couldn’t move my hand, couldn’t hear anything. All I felt was the heat and my stomach. Her skin started knitting together, the blood soaking up like it had gone into a sponge, and she visibly breathed easier, and then the wound was gone. She was healed. I fell unconscious almost immediately.”

“Fuck,” Shiro curses, the word unfamiliar to him but the tone obvious. He shall remember that word. Antok shall love it.

“When I woke up it was almost a movement later. My magic was weaker then, unexercised and young. It took a lot out of me. We didn't understand. I shouldn’t really have this ability.” Keith fists his hands tight against his side, arms having crossed sometime during his story.

He had felt so odd then. So unlike everyone. More than he already was. Keith was a child, a hybrid one at that. None of the other Blades were as young as him. Were as pale. There were many half galra Blades, of course, but almost all of them were some shade of purple. He had few galra features and then suddenly, he had this magical connection to quintessence, something that no other galra he knew had, and was even more of a freak.

“It’s amazing.” Shiro speaks up, his voice oddly loud and jarring to Keith’s ears. “You healed them, saved their life. You should feel proud.”

He makes some kind of noise in acknowledgement. It hadn’t really felt amazing back then. And he certainly hadn’t felt proud.

“No one knew why I’m like this. So we started testing out what I could do and realized that a lot of my abilities were similar to that of the druid’s.” Keith says, because he doesn’t know where else to go. “Except my magic wasn’t just taking. And it wasn’t like altean alchemy either. Alteans use their connection mostly for healing and invention. They create. Druids weaponize it, use it for attacking and defending themselves. They drain the energy whole and warp it. A sort of invention too, in a sense. I could do both. I could heal and fight with it. But I could also read it.”

Shiro leans against the glass. “Read it? What do you mean?”  
  
Keith gestures with his hands and sits down on the ground. Shiro follows after him and they both cross their legs, leaning towards each other.

“I could feel it. Everywhere. The quintessence, I mean. Could see it in everyone, in every living thing, and could follow it’s trails. The druids sort of have this ability as well, since they’re able to sense each other and sometimes other people. But I could feel it in _everything_.”

Shiro’s face softens more, understanding clouding over his features. “That must have been overwhelming.”  
  
Keith looks down at his hands where they wring in his lap. “It was.” He admits in a whisper.

“So.” Shiro says after a beat, carefully drawing him back. “You were something else, not altean and not druid.”

He nods to confirm. “There is an old galran story that speaks of people like me. Beings on Old Daibazzel. Their existence, however, is unconfirmed as there are no records.”

“Daibazzel?”

“The Galran homeplanet, before Zarkon started to take over the galaxies. It was destroyed long ago.” Keith tells him before going on. “My ability is likely due to my galra blood, but we might never truly know. Anyway. I had these abilities that I could use and when the intel reached us of the druids trying to find more members, we became interested.”  
  
“But you were 10.” Shiro complains, his voice fragile. Keith swallows thickly.

“I was a Blade.” He reminds him. “We knew the druids had been conducting experiments. They were trying to create more of them, using their own genetics and magic. It didn’t work, thankfully. But their searches _did_ turn up more druids, lost and mixed into other planets as they were.”

He wrings his hands tighter.

“At first, they didn’t want to send me in. I was young, widely untrained. I could fight some, sure, and I knew my way around a blade, but I was still a child. Then one of our bases was attacked by the druids.” He looks away. “We lost a lot of Blades that day.”

Shiro reaches forward, his fingers curling around Keith’s cold, shaking ones. Keith looks into his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t say it’s okay. He just nods.

The Blade of Marmora is no stranger to loss. To grief.

They know now how to move on. He knows how.

Even if it's unbearably hard.

“I argued the case that if another attack was planned, I would be able to warn them. A spy among the druids, among the Witch’s ranks nonetheless, at Central Command, would be beyond beneficial. It could turn the tide of the war. Or at least make a huge dent.” He smirks. “It took a while but K- _Leader_ eventually gave in. I took special training to be a decent enough spy while everything was planned out and well…. You know the rest really. I went in, us having let them find me, and I became one of them.”

Shiro makes a noise of protest, waving his hands around and chest shaking like he wants to laugh or scream. Keith is unsure of which. “But how exactly did you infiltrate them? It _can’t_ have been that easy!”  
  
Keith snorts. Loudly. “Of course not.” He shoots Shiro a very pointed look. “But that is a story for another day. It is quite late, paladin. You should rest.”

Shiro scowls but leans back, hands falling back down beside his thighs. “Fine. But you should go to bed too. Don’t think I forgot you were here before me.”

Keith doesn’t tell him that he often sleeps in here and would therefore likely be in here regardless of his state of wakefulness. Instead, he says “Alright. Bed for us both then.”

He stands, forcing Shiro to get up then too, and together they leave the observation deck. Their footsteps echo loudly in the otherworldly silence of the castle’s halls.

In the break in the hall, where they would part, Shiro’s room to the right and Keith’s the left, Shiro turns to him.

“Thank you for sharing with me tonight, Keith.” The man says kindly and Keith blushes, looking down at his feet with sudden interest. “And for not asking.”

He smiles in return, the move a little awkward and self conscious. “Thank you for listening, paladin.”

Shiro smiles back and wordlessly, they go their separate ways.

Keith stays awake for several hours more but when he finally goes to sleep, there are no dreams.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


There is a change, after that.

Keith would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t expect it. He would also be lying if he claimed not to like it.

His reports to Kolivan are the same, boring and short. Team Voltron isn’t doing a whole lot. There’s a constant ear to the ground trying to figure out what’s up with the Empire but they remain oddly silent, which, personally, Keith thinks is probably a good thing. Other than that though there’s mostly just team training and the occasional planetside assistance.

Every now and then Keith sends Kolivan those coordinates. Princess Allura has agreed it’s best to get the Blades reputation out there as “not totally evil galra, yes actually they do, in fact, exist”.

It’s … slow going.

For the most part, Keith himself stays away from everyone still. At this point, it feels weird to try and talk to anyone. The others no longer stare at him and Allura has stopped frowning, apparently having decided he’s not against them. _As if he ever was_.

It’s awkward though, when pretty much everyone has collectively agreed to ignore him. Sure, Hunk sometimes gives him a small smile and maybe a snack and sometimes Lance, the loud one, will yell something at him. And sometimes Allura will give him word to pass on to Kolivan or Coran will question him about Galra society, checking if his facts are right. And sometimes Pidge will sit next to him, a project in her hands.

But mostly it’s just him and Shiro.

Shiro, who has taken up the hobby of meeting him on the observation deck at night, pointedly ignores the sleeping kit Keith stuffs in the corner now. Shiro, who seeks him out during the day for spars and shared snack time still. Shiro, who will sit next to him at every meal, having long since convinced Keith to start sharing them with the team instead of eating alone, later. 

Shiro, who Keith begins to realize is his friend.

He has never had one before. It’s both exhilarating and extremely frightening. He doesn’t know how to handle it.

So he ignores the feeling.

They talk often now, usually in the quiet safety of the stars, but also in soft tones after spars, helping each other with their wrappings, and in light teases over extremely tasty baked goods. His voice has never been used this much before and for a while there he had to bring a water container everywhere he went to relax his throat.

It’s a small price to pay though, for Shiro’s company.

These talks bring with it another problem though.

He is constantly thinking about Shiro, either because he’s around the man and speaking with him or because he _wants_ to be.

Keith isn’t dense. He knows just friends don’t oggle each other, don’t track the heartbeat in their throat or watch the way fabric stretches just so over their chest when stretching before training. He knows friends don’t think about kissing the other when they're sitting on the floor, toes touching, watching the stars. Knows he shouldn't be lying in bed, thinking about the unbelievably fond look Shiro had shot him over a bowl of popcorn when he had to explain human courting rituals thanks to some movie the others had found. Knows he shouldn’t want Shiro’s hand to drift any lower than the nice weight on his shoulder, a new habit the older man has gotten into as of late.

He can’t help it. He likes how Shiro’s hands feel on him. He wants to feel them all the time. Everywhere.

He knows he has a crush. And so, like everything else, Keith ignores that too.  
  


* * *

  
  


When Keith was 9, he had broken his arm.

It had been a training accident. Keith had turned his body wrong, had taken the fall improperly, and when he fell, it had been a clean snap. Simple and quick. Common.

He had cried as Antok had picked him up and by the time they made it to the medbay, the tears had stopped.

Blades do not cry.

The doctor had patched him up enough, giving him some healing salve for later, and some pills for the pain.

“It’ll hurt,” he had said, “I can’t give you a proper dose, since you’re only half galra.”

Later, when he was alone in his room, his arm aching and his magic barbed, wanting to heal his own body but not yet knowing how, he had looked into his mirror.

_Only half_ , they had said. And isn’t that the phrase that would forever follow him?

His skin is pale, much paler than anyone he knows. It’s similar to some moons he has seen, some crystals, but it is not lilac. Not purple. He hates that.

His teeth are blunt, only his canines even slightly sharp. Enough to tear into meats but only just. Useless in a fight, he has learned.

Keith has long learned to accept this part of his life. When you are an enemy hiding within the Empire, an enemy who already knows of the virus seeping into the bones of galra, you must. Acknowledging it and living with it doesn’t lessen any of his feelings though, try as he might.

It was easier, perhaps, in the empire. Not at first, of course. The soldiers that had discovered him hadn’t kept their comments to themselves and neither had anyone else.

But with the druids, Keith had discovered anonymity under the robes and mask. The druids favored loose robes, thick masks, and tight wrappings over skin. Keith or Yorak hadn’t been Galra then. Or even half galran. He had been a druid, a witch.

A monster. That was it.

Now, with the Blade and Voltron, he does not hold that same luxury. He is back to “only half”. Half galran. Half human. Never enough of either to be fully trusted.

He supposes he understands. Maybe in another, better life things would have been different. But he doesn’t have that kind of luxury for thought either.

Shiro at least has been trying, far harder than he deserves. Trying more than Keith thinks he himself would, if the roles were switched.

There’s always been that disconnect, that constant wondering, when it comes to Earth and the people who live there. He does not know their ways, the customs they share, how they speak and fight and love. The more he learns from the terrans, the more he understands just how complicatedly nuanced and different humans are, even among each other, but still. Shiro is giving him more than he’s ever had before.

The other humans are not as accepting.

They look at him, with his odd uniform and his clearly galra features and scream distrust. It lingers in their eyes like a badly concealed lie. His instincts and training tell him to tear it from them with bared teeth and judgement, forever the executioner, the bringer of truth and justice, but he does not.

He understands their hatred. Understands that their loyalty does not come to them as freely as his does. It has been a long time but Keith knows how to handle this. Has felt it’s burning frown all his life.

He will continue to do so.

They do not want him here. Do not approve. But that is well. Keith does not seek their acceptance.

He has Shiro’s. That must be enough. And it is.

(For now.)  
  


* * *

  
  
  


When Keith’s healed enough, their lessons start.

“Quintessence,” Keith whispers, his knees pressed against Allura’s “is the biggest temptress.”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed that it is alive,” She nods once. “It speaks to us, always calling out. Singing. Begging to be noticed and used. To be fed.”

He looks down, thinking about shaking fingers and weak knees and blood rolling down his face. “There is a push and pull. A give and take. Quintessence is there to be used, us it’s managers and keepers, and it longs to aid you. In whatever way you see fit. But there is always a price. The bigger your actions, the greater the cost. Never forget that. This is the ultimate form of bargains. Tread lightly.”

Keith thinks of sanity. The Witch slipping in and out of Haggar and Honerva, never knowing who she was that day or ever. The druids and the mark of cruelty they now bear, not even knowing they had paid for the power they have tempered. What part of him has he lost?

“I have only felt exhaustion, after.” Allura tells him and he looks into her eyes, the bluest of blues.

“Exhaustion can easily bleed into a quiet, sleeping death.” He reminds her. Between them, a small ball of energy hangs. They’re sharing it together on the edge of their fingertips. His darker blue bleeds into her light blue energy, swirling in the middle like a perfect paint swatch. “Control is everything. Be conscious of what you have to give, what you are willing to give, and what you already have. Do not let the quintessence or your own desires take over. Power,” he breathes in ozone “does not always equate to victory.”

Her lips twitch. “I can’t see Haggar teaching you that.”

A rotting corpse, eyes bleeding gold, purple electricity carving into them. “She didn’t.”

To the side, the rest of Voltron sits silently. This is not a lesson they can partake in but the message still applies. The lions and the connection the paladins share is not entirely unlike what Keith and Allura themselves hold. It is a shared learning, one they must understand to the very root of their beings. If he can teach them anything, it is this balance.

“Haggar,” The name feels weird on his tongue. “Is a very powerful alchemist. To her, no cost is too great. The price one must pay is easy for the sake of power. She will sacrifice as many people and lives as she needs to to get what she wants. She thinks she can substitute other lives for this exchange so that she herself will not have to pay anything.” He looks over Allura’s attentive face, her blue eyes wide and trusting. Eager. “She is wrong.”

The energy ball flickers before steadying again.

“For the druids, they warp their own quintessence, turning it into a sort of parasite. It eats away at any harm that could befall their host, as their quintessence, though sickly, is still strong. This is why the druids are slightly unstable and very bloodthirsty.” He pushes out his own quintessence as he speaks and between them, the energy ball wavers again. Wisps of magic strike out, batting at them and the air, before he reels it back in. 

“Alteans usually exchange their own energy, hence your exhaustion. The more quintessence you use and collect, the harder it is to control, and the weaker you will become.” He shrinks the energy ball, until it is barely but a light at the tip of their fingertips, before resizing it once more. The whole while, Allura watches, hands never wavering.

“With practice, you will build up your core strength and will be able to use more quintessence, for longer periods of time. I will help you with that, specifically.”

She smiles at him, the softest he’s ever seen her face when it’s turned towards him. “I appreciate your help, Keith. You did not need to teach me and yet, you have offered anyway. I shall never forget this.”

He smiles back, a little awkwardly. “We are allies, Princess Allura. Your success is my success and if I can help you on that path, then I shall.”

Lance coughs loudly and Allura rolls her eyes, though a fond smile touches her lips. He directs them back to the quintessence.

“Haggar is not a druid, as you now know. She is altean and as such, her quintessence demands an equal exchange of power. It is not submissive and while she has willfully ignored her own nature, her quintessence has not.”

The energy ball grows larger but thinner, stretching out like a cheap balloon. Allura eyes it with something almost akin to understanding.

“Her quintessence is very brittle. It is strong, yes but when it breaks, she will be completely destroyed. Honerva has sacrificed many lives on her quest and while they were taken as a boon, they were never equal to the power she was taking. And so something else needed to be given up.”

Allura looks down. “Her mind.”

“Yes.” He says simply. “Honerva does not remember her time as Zarkon’s wife. She only knows herself now as Haggar, as the Emperor’s Witch. She has lost almost all sense of reality and reason. While her intelligence is still sharp, it is significantly less than it should be. She skips many steps and one day, she will fall. Hard. When her quintessence breaks, I suspect she will regain her memories and ultimately, she will lose her mind even more.”

“Well that’s terrifying.” Pidge deadpans from across the room and Hunk laughs nervously.

“Haggar is already a threat.” Shiro breaks in, frowning heavily with his brows knitted. “Will this breakdown make her a bigger one or less?”

“I believe she will be worse.” Keith confesses, not at all happy to do so. Allura’s fingers squeeze his own painfully for a second. “Her instability will just drive her further. And while she would likely seem more composed than ever, she would actually be more warped.”  
  
He looks into Allura’s eyes. “She would be Honerva again, brilliant and cunning, and she would remember everything. But she wouldn’t be able to stop herself. Her broken quintessence would demand more and more of her and she will never find enough.”  
  
“How will we stop her?” Allura asks him.

“Uh,” Pidge drawls. “Kill her?”

“Can we take her magic away?” Hunk asks. “Like in that old cartoon?”

“You will have to be her breaks.” Keith tells her. “Honerva will not be able to stop and so we must stop her ourselves.” He cuts a look over to the paladins. “By any means necessary.”

Allura frowns, eyes darting around quickly. “I do not wish to kill her.”  
  
“She sounds sick.” Shiro says, his voice low, and everyone immediately looks at him, though he doesn’t notice. “It seems unfair to kill her, when it sounds like she can’t do anything to stop herself.”  
  
“A prisoner in her own mind.” Hunk mumbles.

Lance frowns at him. “Yeah but it’s Haggar! Evil, scary lady that tries to kill us, like, every other day? Guys, you can’t possibly feel sorry for her!”

Keith clears his throat and everyone turns back to them. “Honerva went down this path herself. She willingly chose to ignore the costs at her own expense. She made these choices and she knew the consequences. Do not think of her as one who didn’t know any better.” Before him, Allura frowns and he can feel the sadness in the link between them, connected by the fingers as they are.

“Princess.” She looks up. “Stopping her does not mean she must die. There can be another way.”

“Like what?”  
  
He squeezes her fingers and the energy ball flickers brightly for a moment. “I overpowered the druids, for my magic was inherently stronger. Ignoring skill or experience, my own was too much for theirs. I have sensed both yours and Honerva’s cores and while evenly matched, I believe you could defeat her.”

“Stop her by force, you mean. In battle.” Allura confirms and he nods.

“Yes. It will be difficult and you have much to learn still but,” he wets his lips “when the time comes, I will have you ready as you can be.”

His style of abilities was different than altean but he knew enough, could translate enough of what he knew over, that she could learn.

“And if I fail?” Allura’s voice is low, quiet. Only for his ears. “If she kills me instead? Will you take her out?”

Keith doesn’t look away from her.

He thinks of before, when he had been too small for the robes of a galra soldier. When he had sat in a cold, damp cell and the druids had come by every four hours to test him. He thinks of how hungry and thirsty he had been, as they tested him further, trying to see how far he could go, how far his quintessence could last before it began to eat away at him. He thinks of the Witch, for he had not yet learned her real name yet, had come in and stroked his cheeks before electrifying him. Over and over and over.

“Yes.” The energy ball glows brighter, stronger. “I will do whatever needs to be done.”

Even if that means stopping Allura from herself.

  
  


* * *

  
  


And then, things change again but he barely notices.

They’re in the common area this time and Shiro has set up a device in front of them. It’s similar to a radio, he says, which plays music. Keith doesn’t understand why humans need separate objects for singular things when they can just make one object do multiple things.

Shiro laughs when Keith says this and explains Lance had asked Pidge and Hunk to make this, specifically, and he understands a little more. Lance is, after all, a very simple creature.

Still. It’s annoying and odd.

It’s nice though to hear music again. It isn’t a common sound aboard Central Command, saved only for very important balls and even then it sounds nothing like the noises coming from the human’s radio. Within the Blades, music is more freely heard, more as a background thing than a focus however. And it’s the same instrumental things of the Empire.

Human music, he learns, is very beautiful and he prefers it much over the kind in space. Shiro looks absolutely delighted when Keith declares this, his face brightening up and grin stretching wide.

“Do you want to dance?” He asks Keith, when the music playing slows down to something quiet and calm. It’s lovely, he thinks.

He looks up at Shiro’s outstretched hand. “I’ve never danced before.”

Shiro smiles, eyes crinkling. “That’s okay. I’ll teach you. Slow songs are easy.”

He takes the hand.

Shiro guides his hand to his waist, where Keith hesitantly curls his fingers, careful not to be too tight.

“Now I put mine here...” Shiro places his own hand to Keith’s side and it takes him a baited breath to not move at the contact, every atom of him aligned for a fight that isn’t here.

Shiro lifts their joined hands, drawing Keith in closer until they are pressed almost together, chest to chest. The heavy scent of his cologne reaches his nose, making him twitch. Shiro’s lips mirror the movement, squeezing his hand almost reassuringly.

“And now we sway.” 

“You are very close.” Keith tells him, voice low. The moment feels careful, like he needs to treat it with a gentle gaze. It feels almost similar to that heavy quiet before a battle, when his eyes would sweep across the field, right before he locked onto the enemy. If he closes his eyes, perhaps he’d be able to imagine the feel of his knifes hilt within his palm.

He closes them and breathes Shiro in deeply.

He can’t hear the human’s heartbeat. Or anything else for that matter. There’s a perfect stillness, a warm silence surrounding them, stuffing his ears and throat close. All he knows is the smell of cologne, strong and thick and distinctly Shiro. Even the man’s palm pressed against his own feels too distant, like the press of another being seen rather than felt.

Keith feels a million miles away while simultaneously feeling so deeply rooted here he’s not sure he’s ever been in any other moment.

All the colors and sounds blend into one until it’s just them. Just Shiro and Just Keith. Dancing.

He opens his eyes and Shiro’s soft grey ones meet his.

His heart is not in his throat. It is so firmly within his chest that he feels afraid. Is this what it means to be human?

He isn’t sure he likes it. Or maybe he likes it too much. Keith’s not sure.

They keep dancing, even when the song changes. And they keep swaying, even when the tempo picks up into something fast and the words are being screamed rather than sung gently.

Dancing, he decides, is just as lovely as music.

  
  


* * *

When they march Prince Lotor past him, towards the holding cell Keith didn’t know they had, their eyes meet.

Keith thinks of a little boy with a tiny nose asking about universal peace and looks away.

* * *

  
  


They’re sitting in the training decks locker room when Keith sees it.

Shiro has removed his shirt, a common occurrence that still takes his breath away every time, and has started to untie his shoes, preparing for a shower. His arms stretch down, muscles turned and wired in just a way that has his heart skipping a beat, when he catches something new.

There is the curve of something on Shiro’s inner left bicep.

The words are escaping before he registers them. “What’s that?”

Shiro halts, eyes flickering up uncertainly, before he seems to realize what Keith means and laughs low in his throat, light and airy and beyond perfect.

God he hates him. He hates himself more. It’s disgusting, honestly, how pathetic he is. Kolivan would surely laugh at him.

He doesn't even want to think about his mom.

“This?” Shiro taps the unfocused marking on his skin and he nods. “It’s my soulmark.”  
  
The term is unfamiliar to him. “What’s that?” He repeats, hating his lack of knowledge. Intel, after all, is everything.

Shiro laughs again and turns his arm just so, taking a few steps forward so Keith can get a better look. It’s still somewhat hard to really see it but he can make the curves out enough to recognize them as letters of a sort.

“My soulmark.” Shiro says again, voice just as light as his previous laughs. “When a human turns 18, they get a mark on them that can help them find their soulmate.”

Oh. “You have a soulmate then?”  
  
The other shrugs inelegantly. “Probably. Not everyone finds theirs, of course. It could be anyone after all. On Earth there’s all sorts of registries that can help you locate yours but honestly it’s kind of a hassle.”

_Oh_. “You have not found yours yet.”

It’s not a question. Shiro confirms it regardless.

“Nope,” the p pops “I’m not too concerned though. Still, it would be nice to know what this even is.” He laughs joyfully and despite it, Keith finds himself smiling at the sound.

“You don’t know?”

“I know it’s some kind of language. Not a human one though. Honestly, I thought it was galran for the longest time.” Shiro confesses and this has Keith straightening up, just a bit.

He’s only curious. Honest.

“Oh? How come?”

“Well, the shapes kind of match the galran alphabet. But I never found anything exactly like them so I figured it wasn’t that.” He shrugs again, as if it were not, and Keith resists the urge to growl.

“May I see?” He really shouldn’t. The curiosity will kill him. Kolivan always said that was one of his flaws.

Still. Better to have the knowledge, right?

Shiro hums and steps closer, holding his arm out for Keith, who wraps his fingers around the boy’s wrist carefully, turning his arm a little more so he can better see.

Shiro was right. It is not the galran alphabet.

At least, not a version of it the boy would know.

Suddenly, he cannot breathe, and he swallows hard and forces himself to drop the limb, looking away.

The room is too small, he thinks. Too hot. His magic hums restlessly under his skin, frayed with his nerves. Uneasily, he coaxes it to calm.

“Weird right?” Shiro says, taking Keith’s silence in a different way.

He doesn’t correct him. “Right.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Later, Keith lays down in his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Shiro’s weird marking, his soulmark, the mark of his soulmate, had not been in galran. Not in the alphabet the Empire uses, anyway. Earlier, after he had run out of the room with some poor excuses, he had run to the library to confirm his suspicions. The altean library and database, while vast, doesn’t hold any records of the forgotten language of his people.

Shiro’s soulmark is written in the careful letters of a very old tongue of Daibazzel, one very, very few people knew at all. It had been uncommon even back then, when Altea had still existed, and it’s existence now is almost entirely long gone. There are no papers or books on it anymore, nothing to show that it once was spoken or even written.

Nothing, that is, except for the Blade of Marmora.

Kolivan, who is one of their oldest members, had learned the language from his own Leader, and they had learned it from their Leader, and so forth. The teachings are mostly oral and any written practice is destroyed immediately upon completion, to eliminate the information from spreading. Keith himself had only learned it from Kolivan because his position as a spy was slightly more dangerous than the others. The Blade used the language as one of their most bizarre and treasured of defenses. They alone know the language and even then, few of them know it.

But Keith is one of them and so he knows what Shiro’s mark says.

He knows it’s his own name. Not Yorak. But Keith, written in the ancient letters of old.

He laughs bitterly at the ceiling, the walls bouncing the sound back to him.

He cannot tell Shiro, he thinks. The man must never know. He must not know that Keith of all people is his soulmate.

Because for as much as they have talked, shared, Shiro doesn’t know what kind of person he truly is, what he has done.

Keith has seen the Champion in it’s ferocity, in the base of it’s instincts. He has seen it’s crimes, Shiro’s biggest regrets, and he has laughed in the face of it, looking back at his own actions and scoffing at the child's play.

Keith knows he is a monster. Had played the part of one well, for the Empire. So well, in fact, that there is no way he came out of it clean.

He is forever tainted. Forever this demented creature. A true monster if he ever saw one, because unlike the other druids, Keith had his morals, knew it was wrong, and did everything anyway.

He does not deserve love or Shiro’s kindness. Shiro should not be burdened with someone as ugly as him, as inherently evil. He deserves better.

And so Keith resolves himself to say nothing.

* * *

  
  


Despite this promise to hold his silence, it doesn’t stop his feelings.

If anything, it makes things worse.

And even worse when his curiosity, once again, gets the better of him. He starts suspecting Kolivan is right after all.

They’re sitting together on the observation deck once more, this time above Keith’s blanket. Shiro had spread it out and declared they were going to have a picnic, which Keith didn’t know what that was, and after a quick explanation, and had demanded snacks. So they were sitting atop a blanket, a plate of drinks and space cookies between them, when he had a realization.

“Wait. If humans get a soumark at maturity, should I have one?”

Shiro hums around the mouthful of his cookie. They’re chocolate chip, he had said, or as close as they can presently make them anyway. “Maybe your galra blood blocks it. Galra don’t have soulmarks do they?”

Keith shakes his head. “No. Galra mate for life of course but we don’t have such a luxury.”

Shiro snorts and waves a dismissive hand, throwing crumbs around. Keith subtly uses his magic to tidy them up onto a bare corner of the plate. “Soulmarks aren’t really all that special. Most people ignore them really. It’s rare to find your match, after all, and sure if you’re lucky enough to find yours, that’s great. But no. It’s not really a luxury.”  
  
Keith frowns and moves his foot around a bit, jiggling it in the air to shake off the numbness settling in it. “How do humans mate then, if you don’t just follow the mark?”

“Well…” Shiro trails off, frowning and squinting. “We find someone we like and take them on dates if they like us back.”

“Dates?”

Shiro chuckles. “Don’t Galra date?”  
  
“We court.” Keith says. “Usually, when Galrans get together, it is merely for reproduction. Love has little room in present society. However, should one hold such a desire, it is quite quiet. They spend physical time together, sharing scents and body heat. Things like that. There is much fighting, to assert physical prowess, and a meal is prepared I think. To prove one’s resourcefulness. You must prove you are a worthy mate, capable of providing and sharing.”

“Galra don’t marry for love?” Shiro asks, sounding puzzled.

Keith shrugs. “Galra do not marry. We have mating marks, you see, which marks one as taken so no one encroaches upon the relationship. Our saliva holds an enzyme that the scar will hold and other galra will smell it. Love comes into such a relationship eventually, I suppose. I do not know. I am not mated nor do I personally know anyone who is.”

“What about having a family? How does that work?” Shiro questions, his face still adorably confused. 

“Co-parenting is an option, but oftentimes, children are not raised by their sires. Under Zarkon’s rule, most children are sent to the Academy where you are raised to become a useful asset. A soldier. There, your capabilities are measured and sharpened and upon maturity or an acceptable level of proven skill, you are assigned your mission.”

“That’s horrible.” Shiro gasps, looking absolutely floored with his mouth open like that. “What about you though?”

He shrugs again. “Before I infiltrated the druids, the Blade raised me communaly. Admittedly, Leader and Antok were my main guardians but I slept in my own room once able and I ate with everyone in the commons. I trained when told to, with whoever was in the gyms, and I went wherever instructed. Leader and Ulaz taught me most things, like science and maths, and Antok was my usual sparring partner, Regris my technical advisor. Everyone aided me. When I was at the Empire, I was tested by the druids for awhile and when I did join their ranks, I was mostly left alone. I did my assignments and when I wasn’t doing that, I remained in my room. Awaiting further orders. You know, outside of the whole passing on intel under the table thing that is.”

“Of course,” Shiro teases back with a grin before he changes it back to the topic. “Still. That’s so different from Earth. It sounds cold and lonely. Didn’t you ever get like hugs and bedtime stories? Things like that?”  
  
Keith thinks back to his childhood, before he was sharpened into what he is. He can’t tell Shiro, not yet anyway, that him and Kolivan are closer than is considered the norm for galra. He is, as Kolivan likes to fondly call him, the man’s kit. And if Keith had occasionally called the man papa, that was between them.

“It was warm, Shiro.” He says instead. “It never felt lacking to me.”

Shiro hums, looking down at his lap for a moment, before nodding. “As long as you were happy.”  
  
He thinks of Kolivan again, carrying him around on his shoulders, letting Keith wield his too big blade. “I was.”

“Good.” He nods decidedly.

“You were telling me of human relations though.” Keith reminds him, because he still has many questions. He is half human after all and he knows so very little about his sire’s people. “What are they like? Outside of these soulmarks.”

“Well,” The boy drags the L out. “Like I said, we go on dates. Which galra kinda do, I suppose. Not too sure.”  
  
“What do you do on these dates?” He asks, eyes wide and blinking slow. Shiro stares at him for a long moment, blinking at him. He’s kind of concerned but before he can ask the man if he’s okay, Shiro shakes himself out of his daze, a pink stain making it’s way over his face, and continues.

“Fun things. Things you’ll both like. Like watching a movie or stargazing or sharing a meal together.”

“Oh! Like we do?”

The pink deepens into a red on Shiro’s face. “Yes. And if you really like each other you kiss and hold hands. Things like that. And then you can… mate. If you decide you only want to do those things with this person, forever, you get married. Which is mating for life basically.”

“I see.” He hums. Humans are complicated. “Kissing is the mouth pushing, yes?” They had watched a movie recently, where such a practice was. He's pretty sure Shiro explained it that way. Shiro nods quickly. “Strange. Galra rub noses, so it must feel similar. How do humans handle reproducing?”  
  
“Same way I suppose!” Shiro blurts out, his face absolutely red by now. “The couple, er, bearer and sire that is, raise the child together. Sometimes more family is involved but it’s mostly the parents who do the raising.”  
  
“How limited.” Keith comments. He couldn’t imagine raising a child alone. Though, it’s more than the Empire does for most of its children. Still. He much prefers how the Blade handled things. “So, if humans do this dating and ignore soulmarks, how do you find the right mate? Is it by scent?”  
  
Shiro coughs around a poorly hidden laugh and Keith smiles, slightly bemused. “No not really. It’s, um, how you feel? You just really like them and want to be around them all the time. It’s, uh, kind of hard to explain.”  
  
Perhaps it is but it’s not hard for Keith to understand. Not at all. Not with how he feels around Shiro.

He thinks he would like to _date_ the man, if things were different. He wonders if this is what people with mates feel. Love, he wonders.

He changes the topic to something else after that, telling Shiro a story about how he learned more about his magic instead, and tries to forget the words love and mate. 

He fails.  
  


* * *

  
  


Around them, the dust is settling. Red clay paints the air and his knees and he can feel the electricity in the air, crackling.

The eyes of their allies (but not _his_ ) pierce onto him on all sides but he ignores them. Ignores them as well as he ignores the shaking in his knees as he stands up and marches forward, toward the girl in the middle of his unrest.

A Blade learns early (young) that knowledge is the most crucial weapon one can weild. If you go into any situation, any fight, without knowing what to expect, you have already lost.

A galra soldier is taught, beaten into them with the veracity of instinct and false nurture, that victory is yours. No matter the cost. No matter the circumstance. You shall win or you will die with honor. Defeat is unacceptable, intolerable, and the greatest smear you could ever carry in waking life. Death, the empire hisses, is beyond preferable.

A druid knows power is the only thing that trumpets everything else. Power, Honerva says, will bring you knowledge and victory. You need only to be stronger than them. Stronger than their will. And if you can not beat them, then you shall break them.

Keith has taught himself to bend. Bend into whatever they need you to be, want you to be, and you will have it. Knowledge, victory, power, whatever. Bend and you will never break, never lose, will never be unprepared. Bend and you will follow the flow to success.

Leader had sent word to Voltron, to Princess Allura and Shiro and him, that they had tracked down a druid. A rogue, deserted by Honerva( _Haggar_ ), preying on the vulnerable. They were siphoning off quintessence from various beings, draining them dry like some kind of space vampire. (Lance’s words, not his).

_Your orders, ma’am? Robes scraping the bottom of his toes, knee tucked and head bowed._

“Taking out the druid is crucial.” Princess Allura says, her voice crisp and frosty. The more alchemy she learns, the more Lotor tells them, the more Keith has taught her, the angrier the betrayal makes her.

_Yes, my Emperor._

“Yes Leader.” He tells Kolivan soon after. He knows his task. Knows it will take him to death. Victory or knowledge, it all leads to the same end. All galra know that. It’s all they have.

They track Rezart down to a planet Keith doesn’t know the name of. He hadn’t been paying much attention during the briefing. He didn’t need their star charts and instructions to find the druid. Their magic sings out to him like the most dangerous of calls. A true siren.

“Must rescue any hostages-” Shiro is saying over the comms, the others stepping out around him. Surrounding.

Keith walks alone, ahead of everyone. His heart is beating fast, his face hot and sweaty behind his mask. He doesn’t want them here. Does not need them.

An inhale of ozone. “Protect the Wasi-”

A blink. Exhale. A whip of energy.

Someone yells in pain and Keith is already turning.

The next minutes, hours, whatever are a blur of sharp ducks and aborted steps. Magic smarts the air hot, making it sizzle and burn. The ground between them is grey and dead, the quintessence gone. Keith wonders, faintly, which of them had done it.

When it is over, when Rezart’s accusations are still being echoed in the screaming silence around him, Keith falls to his knees. Blood drips down his face, from his nose and mouth and maybe even his eyes. His body aches, burns in the worst of ways, and his fingers feel as if he has scrubbed something raw with chemicals.

Someone is yelling over his comm and he knows, in that distant way he knows about the blood, that someone is running towards them.

Love, Kolivan had told him once, is a weakness. Keith understands better now.

He’s standing before Shiro makes it to him and he reaches up to jerk the hood of his uniform back, taking the mask with it. The dry air of the planet covers his face, cooling it just enough to notice.

His fingers are still shaking, still numb warmly, when he reaches up and when he pulls them back again, his blood is red.

Terribly humanly red.

Behind Shiro, the others are looking at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. This is the first time, he realizes, that they have seen his magic. _Really_ seen it.

 _They see you_ , a voice whispers by his ear. _They see what you are. A poison._

Honerva had liked poisons.

His blood may be red, his magic galran, but he is neither and too much of both.

He turns away and shrugs Shiro’s hand off when the man tries to steady him. He will live.

  
  


* * *

  
  


He is here again.

Shiro is bleeding.

All around him people are running. The drones of the empire fall to the ground, scattering up dirt in messy arches and uprooting the vegetation. He can hear Hunk yelling, directing some civilians around the chaos that is this field. He can hear Lance’s rifle shooting, the quick beams of energy shooting past him and falling of knees as the mark strikes true. He can hear Pidge taking a sharp inhale as she kicks another soldier down, using her legs like he had shown her just last week. Over the comms, he hears Allura shouting, and can feel the raw energy of her quintessence as she defends them.

He can hear all of this and Shiro is bleeding.

  
He doesn't remember getting them out of there, magic leaping out and tearing a path for them to escape through.

So later, Kolivan is staring down at them, watching Keith tend to an unconscious Shiro. His eyes fall on the man’s soulmark, dark and obvious as it is, and he sees from the corner of his eye as the older galra stiffens.

“Did you-?” Kolivan starts out, words stilted and awkward and not at all pleased.

“No.” He cuts him off. He doesn’t want to deal with this right now. “Humans have marks to lead them to their soulmates. This is Shiro’s.” He wipes over the wound, glad Shiro isn’t awake to feel the sting or hear this conversation. “They’re very private so don’t ask him about it.”

As Keith finishes dressing the wound, carefully wrapping gauze over the bloody cut, he meets Kolivan’s eyes.

He knows.

“You are the Black Paladin’s mate.” It is not a question.

He makes a low noise. “Apparently.”

“You do not wish to tell him?” Leader doesn’t sound confused nor curious but Keith looks away from his golden gaze anyway.

“I willingly served the people that tortured and traumatized him.” He nearly whispers, eyes still locked on the gauze, even though his task is done and Shiro is fine. “He could never want me. I would poison him.”

Kolivan does not try to argue with him but Keith can hear the man as a long, shaky sigh escapes him. He looks up and he hopes his face isn’t as troubled as he feels. From the way Kolivan looks him over, he’s sure it does.

He feels like a small kit again, always waiting and following Kolivan and his words.

“You are not a poison, my kit.” Kolivan says and Keith trembles, fisting his hands over his thighs. “You are an honorable, kind warrior. You did what needed to be done and saved many lives because of it.”

He looks back down at his lap, biting the inside of his cheek, and exhales noisily through his nose. “Yeah. Well. I didn’t save his.”

Kolivan doesn’t try to stop him as Keith stands up and leaves the wing.

* * *

  
  


Later, he stands in front of the Blade’s departing ship, bag thrown over his shoulder. Shiro’s callused hand is in his, the other presses cooly against his shoulder, bleeding through the thick material of his suit.

“I don’t understand why you’re leaving.” Shiro looks hurt and confused, his features scrunched together and pout fighting valiantly not to be too obvious. It is.

Keith shakes his head. “An ambassador is no longer needed and I have healed. I must be on my way, Shiro. I need to help my people.”

Shiro looks away, mouth set into an ugly frown that scowls down at his feet. “We’re your people now too, Keith. You know that.”

He squeezes Shiro’s hand. He does. “I know.”

Shiro sniffles and forces himself to stand straighter, physically collecting himself as his frown shifts into a barely straight line, the military facade falling over him like a well-worn glove. “When will you be back?”

Keith thinks of the Altean colony and of the Kral Zera. Thinks of his mother and the wolf. “I don’t know.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Keith breaks into a weapons manufactory and scrawls Shiro’s initials into the side of a wall, the old galra characters glaring up at him in a mockery of the soulmark.

When he returns from the mission, forehead still bleeding, he finds a postcard from Shiro. An image of the old Voltron Show flashes glossily up at him and in thick, black marker Shiro has scrawled back _“I’ll be the head!”_

  
  


* * *

  
  


On one of his visits back, Keith is in the kitchen with Shiro, prepping snacks for the team’s movie night.

“Did you know Lotor had a pet cat?” Shiro asks out of seemingly nowhere, his shoulder brushing against Keith’s as he viciously puts icing on to tiny cupcakes.

“Kova, I think. She used to be Honerva’s.”

Shiro gapes, a dollop of icing falling off his knife and splattering across the counter. “Seriously?” He whistles. “How _old_ is that cat?”

Keith snorts. “Well, she had the cat on Altea. So… pretty fucking old.” Lance has been giving him pointers for terran curse words and Keith had gleefully been using them every chance he gets. Antok is doing the same, much to Kolivan’s discomfort.

“So we have an ancient cat and Lance has a cow and Allura has telepathic mice. Are there any normal pets up here? Please tell me you had a completely boring fish once?” The man practically begs.

“I have a dog actually.” Keith hums, cutting cleanly through the fruit.

“What?” Shiro gapes. “You do? And you’re just now telling me?” He shoots him a teasing scowl.

Keith ignores this. “Well. Technically he’s not mine. He’s his own being. He’s more my friend. My partner.”  
  


Shiro has to set down his utensils because just seeing the protective and casual way Keith refers to this unknown dog has his heart fluttering. It is beyond enduring.

“What’s his name?” Shiro smiles.

Keith cuts another slice between answers. “Don’t know. He hasn’t told me yet.”

“He- what?” Shiro hasn’t met a dog in space yet. Perhaps space dogs talk? He asks Keith to confirm.

“No, he doesn’t verbally talk.” Keith scowls at him, beyond serious and looking at Shiro like he’s an idiot for thinking dogs can talk. “He just hasn’t told me yet. He will when he’s ready though. I’ve been waiting.”  
  
And well. Well. Okay. Shiro _really_ loves this boy.

“Do you have any pictures of him then?”

Keith shakes his head though. “He doesn’t like his photo taken. Besides. I don’t own a camera. My comm doesn’t have one.”  
  
Shiro frowns for a moment. “Don’t you have one of those phones? I’ve seen Regris with one.”

“Don’t need one.” Keith tells him. “Who would I message or call? It’d be useless to buy one.”  
  
“You could call me.” Shiro says before he can stop himself.

_This is not how you give a boy your number, Takashi._

Keith shoots him an amused but fond smile. “Shiro. I can visit you any day.”

Right. “Right. Yeah. Nevermind.” He laughs, scratching the back of his head and turning back to their fruit.

“Can you hand me the guvrea?” Keith holds a hand out behind him.

“I- Huh?”  
  
“The purple spiky fruit.”

“Oh.” He does. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Keith tosses over his shoulder.

“So is your dog at least boring? Plays fetch and sits and all that?” Shiro asks after a moment.

Keith shoots him an amused little smirk, lips toying at his heartstrings. _God_ he’s beautiful. It should be illegal.

“Of course he does those things. Except he hates fetch. I think he’s just pretending to mess with me though.”

“Right…” Totally normal dog behavior, Shiro thinks.

“He also teleports.”

“I-what?” Shiro sets his things down. “I give up.”

When Keith laughs at him, joyous and free, he shifts his shoulder, his hair moving a bit and Shiro spots a peak of purple on the now exposed skin, just at the hem of his shirt.

“Is that a tattoo?”

Keith stills. The blade in his hand continues to cut after a second. “What?”  
  
“On your back.” Shiro clarifies, eyeing the purple.

He sees Keith’s shoulders tense further but before Shiro can apologize, the Blade speaks.

“Um. No.” Another clean slice. “It’s a marking. Some Galra have them. Like Kolivan does, on his face.”  
  
“Oh!” He knows. He _knows_ he should leave it at that but . . . “How far do they go?”

Keith stills again but stutters out a response anyway, coughing around his words. “O-Oh, um, all the way down my back I guess? I don’t really remember.”

“What do you mean?” Shiro thinks it makes some sense. He’d forget if he had a back tattoo probably. But this is Keith’s literal skin? How could you forget that?

Keith shrugs a little awkwardly. “It’s not like I look at them often. And, honestly, they’re kinda new. And before, I always hid them.”

“I don’t understand.” Shiro confesses. This conversation is quickly slipping away from him and he’s not sure what to do about it.

Keith laughs, low and choked and nothing short of bitter. “Galra come into maturity around their nineteenth cycle and I was still undercover at the time. For many part-galra, it is not uncommon for your other ancestors genetics to start showing more soon after this. Mine started appearing about a month in my stay here and for me they came in the way of markings. My mother has similar marks along her face.”

“Wow.” Shiro breathed. “Do you only have the markings then?”  
  
He shook his head. “My teeth changed as well.” He flashed Shiro a grin showcasing neat rows of pointed fangs. “They’re much sharper and retractable.”  
  
“Retractable?!”  
  
Keith laughed lightly. “Yes. I don’t usually bear them like this. I bite my tongue too much. Prince Lotor has retractable claws, you know, so it’s really not that special.”  
  
Shiro cursed, just thinking about it. He couldn’t imagine having retractable anything. The concept was too odd. He did, however, wonder if there was anything else the galra would have with that...ability.

He did note Keith’s words though. “Prince Lotor? You still see him as that, even after everything?”  
  
A sharp nod. “Yes. He is, by blood, next in line for the throne. Even with his father’s banishment, Prince Lotor has been raised to lead the galra.

“I didn’t think the Marmora would see him that way.” Shiro admits, feeling a bit scolded. “Since you’re fighting Zarkon and the Empire. I just assumed you would, I don’t know, have different ideas for the government.”  
  
Keith hums thoughtfully as he cuts through another slice. “While it is true that we have a different mindset, we are also raised as galra, Shiro. Our people believe in the choice to fight, to earn your honor and position. Prince Lotor has long proven himself as different from his father. Better. Should he win the Kral Zera, the Blade of Marmora would stand with him. He is, after all, our best course to change. And, since he already knows the ways of the court and people already know of him, it would be a swiffer adjustment. To the Empire, he is still a prince, still above them. Less will fight him for that.”

“Kral Zera?” He frowns.

“It is how our leader is chosen. Many gather to meet on Planet Feyiv for the ceremony and all who deem themselves worthy have a chance to fight for the throne. To become emperor, you must defeat all others in combat and ascend the steps to light the Kral Zera, which is a goblet that will burn through the Emperor’s continued reign until their death. In which case the ceremony would be held once more.”

“Wow.” Shiro deadpans. “The Galra really do honor combat.”  
  
Keith chuckles. “Yes, it is very central to our culture. Being a capable fighter shows your inner strength, reflecting it and exposing your endurance and determination. It proves you can handle anything, can conquer all your foes, and protect what is yours to be protected. A weak leader is not a fighter, Shiro. My people have long learned this.”  
  
“But only in physical combat.” He counters, thinking of the gladiator rings.

But Keith shakes his head. “To make it to the Kral Zera, you have already proven yourself capable in other areas. No fool would even touch the planet’s atmosphere, much less the surface. The Kral Zera is a fight yes but not truly in combat. It is a fight of honor and respect. Prince Lotor knows this struggle better than anyone. He’s been fighting it for years already.”  
  
“You say that like you know him.”  
  
Keith turns around, finally done cutting up all the fruits and vegetables before him, and stares at him. “Everyone on Zarkon’s ship knew him. In many ways, Prince Lotor was asked to prove himself over and over again. He is not pure galra and that upsets many high up in command. They saw his altean blood as a slight, a sign that he wasn’t worthy of their respect, and they scorned him for that. When Emperor Zarkon banished him for his kindness to the planets he ruled, many saw this as a weakness, that he did not have what it takes to rule. His people did not fear him and to them that was the height of dishonor. And when Prince Lotor left, he was only seen within the company of other part galra, once more proving he was lesser. Many within the Empire, especially high up commanders, look at Prince Lotor and see a rebellious child too different to be of acknowledgement, too strange and weak to be worthy of his title. The Blade of Marmora looks at him and sees change. The possibility for more than what we have now. He knows our struggles, our goals, and shares them. Acts out on them. We see this and to us, it proves his honor.”

Shiro looks away. “It’s hard to look at him and see that. He fought against us in the beginning and he shares very little about himself. Yes he’s given us great intel but it still feels like he’s hiding something.”  
  
Something in Keith’s face changes, his expression cooling into a neutral mask. “Prince Lotor has made mistakes. Many of them. But they have been corrected already and I know, more than anyone else, that he regrets and is sorry for them. And you are right to be suspicious of him, Shiro. I do not wish to discount your feelings. But Prince Lotor has always been viewed that way and so it is no surprise that he is… less than personal.”

Shiro sighs, running a hand through his bangs. “That’s fair.” He cuts a look over. “How do you know so much about him anyway?”  
  
Keith’s mouth flattens even further. “Honerva was always watching him. Always keeping an eye on him and his generals actions. She had all of the druids spy and monitor his movements. During this time, I discovered one of the things he was hiding and, unbeknownst to Honerva, I warned him about it. Together we took care of the... issue.”  
  
“What was he doing?” Shiro asked curiously, eager to know more about the illusive man. 

Keith only shakes his head. “That is not mine to share. I hope one day all of you will know about it though. It could change much.”  
  
He frowns. “Keith if it's that important then we should probably know about it.”  
  
“More people knowing puts many, many lives in danger, Shiro. I will not lose their trust in me by exposing it. For now, the secret is best safe where it is.”  
  
He sighs but nods in agreement. If Keith truly believes this to be right, Shiro will not push. “Does Kolivan know at least?”  
  
“No.” Keith says. “Leader knows what you do but not the details. Only my mother knows.”  
  
“Your mom?” He blinks. “How does she know?”  
  
“She was the one who sent me the first hint about Prince Lotor’s actions and I was best equipped to investigate it. When I made my discovery, I informed her of everything as insurance before I approached the prince. Someone else needed to know in case he reacted badly and I failed in my mission. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that.”  
  
“Now I really want to know.” Shiro confesses, sending a rueful smile to Keith, who mirrors it in amusement. “You make it sound like some grand spy adventure.”  
  
“Well,” the Blade drawls “I _am_ a spy.”  
  


* * *

When Keith returns to base the next night, he thinks of Romelle and Bandor.

* * *

When Shiro walks into the kitchen, he immediately freezes.

There, standing over the stove, is Keith with a bright pink apron tied over his neck and around his slim, tiny waist. He’s still wearing his Blade suit, which has many holes in it. The boy has, quite obviously, just gotten off a mission and has come to visit them instead of the infirmary.

“What are you doing?”  
  
Keith looks over at him, face as serious as ever.

“Hunk has instructed me to watch these eggs.” He intones, like he’s reading a script, and then returns to staring down at the sizzling pan that, Shiro notes, definitely has eggs cooking within it.

“Oh.” Alright. He discretely sniffs the air. “I think they’re burning.”

Keith frowns down at the pan. “Hunk did not tell me how to cook these. He merely said to watch them.”

Shiro chuckles before he can stop himself and Keith frowns over at him, mouth pushing impossibly flatter in his displeasure. He steps forward, taking a hold of the spatula carelessly discarded on the counter, and nudges Keith to the side with his hip.

“Here,” He smiles, going to flip the egg over so it doesn't burn too badly. Except instead of a quick flip, the egg just bends in on itself and suddenly looks like a sort of taco.

Keith scowls down at it. “You broke the egg!”

Shiro prods the egg with the spatula and gives another chuckle, though this one sounds nervous even to his own ears. “We just gotta unfold it, that’s all.”  
  
Except this proves even harder because the egg does not separate at all. In fact, it just seems to make it even worse. All the while, the egg continues to burn. Panicking a little, he flips the little egg taco onto the other side and pointedly ignores the charred face now exposed to them.

“See? All fine.”

Keith scowls at him, pointed teeth poking out past his lips. “Hunk will be displeased. I have failed in his mission for me.”

Shiro pouts, feeling a little bad. Only a little though because Keith's tiny fang is just adorable. He looks like a kitten and Shiro wants to poke his face.

Before he can give into that urge (no doubt avoiding a disaster), Hunk enters the room.

“Guys!” Hunk throws up his hands, eyes big. “I leave for four minutes and the eggs are burnt!”

Keith’s face is solemn, the frown heavy. “I apologize, yellow paladin. I have misplaced your faith in my abilities.”  
  
Hunk stares at him for a long moment before he rushes over and settles both hands on the galra’s thin shoulders. Keith jumps at the contact but Hunk is unfettered and stares into Keith’s wide, blue eyes.

“Keith, my friend, it’s okay. You did a great job watching them. I’m sorry Shiro is a complete disaster.”

Shiro sputters but Keith just nods.

“Yes, I noticed.” He replies seriously, not even looking away, and Shiro splutters again.

Hunk, apparently satisfied that Keith no longer looks like he’s marching to his grave, rounds on Shiro.

“And you! Who let you cook?!” Hunk steps forward, jerking the spatula out of his hand and grabbing a hold of the pan to throw the egg out. He points at the table behind them with the spatula. “Go sit at the table and think about what you’ve done!”  
  
“But-”

“Nope!” Hunk jabs the spatula. “You murdered these eggs and should feel sorry! Sit.”

Shiro sits.

Hunk turns back to Keith.

“Come here, purple man. Let Chef Hunk teach you the art of breakfast.”

“I am not purple.” Keith says as he walks over with a bemused frown.

From his banished spot at the table, Shiro grins.

* * *

  
  


Krolia looks exactly the same as she used to.

He keeps sneaking looks at her, cutting his eyes across the fire, waiting for her to disappear again. She pretends not to notice and he’s glad for it.

Ever since Kolivan gave him the coordinates of Ranveig’s base, he had known. It’s been over 15 years since he last saw her. He wonders how different he must look to her now. He sees familiarity in her face and the same short hair. He knows that he doesn’t hold the same.

Can she Honerva’s mark as clearly as he does? Can she see the blood and magic that has corroded every innocent part of him?

“Keith.” Even her voice is the same. So little has changed and yet…. “We can talk later. You should rest.”

He twists the handle of his blade. Their blade. He thinks of Shiro, planets and galaxies away, and of the Altean colony they’re enroute to. He has so much to tell her and he wants to know so much more. But she’s right.

It can wait.

* * *

Months later, Keith is the last of the druids left and he is returning to Earth.

Krolia and Lotor are by his side, Kolivan flying the ship with an excited wolf ( _Kosmo_ , the team calls him, despite his protests). His mom is quiet, eyes distant as she stares through the windows at the murky little planet she forced herself to forget. Lotor is the same, though his body hangs thin and raggad with a hauntedness Keith had hoped to never see in him.

He had found him in one of Honerva’s old experimentation labs, body rotting away and barely salvageable. Keith had not expected him to be alive, with the way his skin had waxed over and his bones to stretch out. But quintessence is capable of many things and when you’ve gone mad it a giant field of it, sometimes it clings on to you. Lotor is lucky to be alive, to have played a decent enough host that the quintessence had _wanted_ to save him, but Keith knows the other galra does not see himself as lucky.

Earth holds terrible things for all of them but at least Keith doesn’t have to face Allura after being brainwashed by his crazy mother and dark energy. Lotor had almost destroyed the Altean colony, the tiny hope Allura had just been reunited with, and had almost killed all of the paladins. She had lost her castle, the last of Altea. He’s not sure the wound will ever close and heal properly but he has hope.

Krolia sets her hand over his, pressing against the glass.

“They’re all down there.” Lotor stiffens but doesn’t look away. “This is it, isn’t it?”

She does not smile. “Yes.”

They stare in silence for a while, looking down at earth, terra, all thinking about the paladins from this little planet. They’re finally home and now they’ve got to fight for it.

Keith is eager to find Sendak. He hopes to rip his spine out.

Lotor grins at him like he knows what Keith’s thinking and he returns it, fangs and all.

“We should celebrate. After.” Krolia declares. “Your father always boasted about hamburgers. I wish to try them.”

He smiles. “Shiro always mentions pancakes when Earth food is brought up.”

He’ll see him soon. His hands itch at the thought.

“Allura gave me a milkshake once.” Lotor sighs, a small smile tugging at his lips, pulling the skin tight. “I would like another.”

_After_ , Keith promises himself and them. He will find Shiro and the others after and they’ll finally learn about earth and humans.

* * *

  
  


When the dust settles and enough tents are built, the alcohol comes out.

Allura dips her head back, laughing loudly. Keith can see the outline of her throat, strong and stern, and grins. By her side, Lance is giggling helplessly into his drink, eyes too wide and bright to be considered sober. Lotor stands awkwardly by them, holding his untouched glass, and grins.

He looks over the lake before them, watching with a smirk as Pidge kicks her feet through the shallow depths of the bank. Hunk is yelling at her, waving his hands around with dashing jabs and wide swoops. It’s no surprise to Keith (or Pidge) when Hunk falls into the water, causing a string of boisterous cackles from Pidge. Keith doesn’t think the boy has had any of the alcohol and yet he’s acting the drunkest of them all. Kosmo barks at them in a mockery of laughter and accidentally shoves Pidge into the water too.

Shiro’s warm breath ghosts over his neck, heating his cheeks as the man chuckles.

“I can’t tell if I feel amused or guilty.”

He cocks a brow and Shiro fiddles with his cup, swirling the royal purple liquid around. “None of them are drinking age.” Then he dips his head, a line appearing between his brows. “Well. I’m not sure about Allura but the others? Definitely too young.”

Keith scoffs noisily and leans further into the wooded railing. “They’re old enough to fight this war. That’s enough for me.”  
  
His companion breathes airily through his nose, a rattling sort of noise that has Keith tightening his grip on his own drink. “That’s fair. Still. Iverson would have my head.”  
  
Keith doesn’t know Iverson very well yet but he supposes it's not too important. “Galra drink as soon as they complete their first assignments. Liquid gold for your victory.” He gulps down the alcohol as he scoffs into it.

“And how old were you?” Shiro shoots him a look too pointed. It’s both a concerning and wry one. 

He scoffs again. “Old enough.”

He gets a finger pointed at him for that. “Not at all reassuring.”

He shrugs. “Was it meant to be?”

Shiro’s fingers slot over his own, taking the cup out of his hand and placing it on the railing with Shiro’s own, half full one next to it. His hand is warm and Keith misses it already but Shiro soon returns it when he slides a hand up to cup his face, thumb brushing over his new scar.

They don’t talk about it.

“Keith,” He starts, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He follows its track. “Now that we’re not- ya know-”

“Dying?” He supplies helpfully and the man chuckles.

“Yeah. That.” His thumb rubs a circle over his cheek again, soft and reassuring. Behind them, Pidge is yelling at Kosmo.

He swallows.

“Now that we’re here and arguably safe again, I just wanted to tell you-”

“Hey!” James bumps into them, jostling Shiro out of reach and making Keith stumble into the rail. Nadia cackles as she runs off and James scowls at her, shooting them an apologetic look before chasing after her. Ina and Ryan follow in their wake, quiet but clearly not entertained.

He looks back and Shiro is pouting down at his shirt, where the rest of his drink has apparently spilt.

Keith takes his hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He doesn’t let him go the whole way back to the Garrison.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The Atlas is huge and as such, her training areas are too.

Still, Keith and Allura sit alone, legs crossed over each other as they sit on the floor. Lotor will be joining them, later, but for now, it is just them.

“Quintessence is inside everyone. Everything. Even if it’s synthetically made, quintessence has a way of forcing itself into the cracks. Host or not, it can reach there.” Keith tells Allura and she nods along, her white hair is pulled up into a bun today and he watches as it bobs with the movement of her head. She’s wearing her paladin armour today, the red bright and hot.

“It’s important to realize this. Because if it is there, that means you can grab it. And it is _always_ there, available to you. It is just waiting for you to reach out and grab ahold of it.”

“I don’t want to take someone’s quintessence away from them.” She frowns, mouth pressing thin until she bites at her lips and they’re released puffy and teeth-bitten.

He thinks of that long ago battle, with Thace and before he met any of them. He thinks of Amadeus and his rattling, final breaths as Keith ruthlessly tore them from him without a single second of hesitation. “We are in a war.” He reminds her in a whisper. “You will do things that you wouldn’t ever had considered, in another time.”

Allura opens her mouth to argue, but something in her gaze shifts and her face crumbles. Mouth opening and closing, she looks away.

“Besides. That’s not what today’s lesson is about.”

She looks back and there’s relief clear in her face. They will have to discuss it, eventually, but it can wait for however long she needs. He wishes he had had that luxury but Honerva had held clear expectations of her crew and he could not have afforded to fall short.

“My point is that you, yourself, hold a great deal of quintessence. More so than most beings, as your abilities are evident of. Sometimes, if you have the strength and control, you can grab ahold of your own quintessence and use it.”

“Like make a sword out of it?” She thinks of the bayards and he smiles softly.

“Yes. If you wanted to really fine tune it. That kind of magic would require a constant stream however and you wouldn’t be able to hold the sword for long.” He opens his palms face up. “Instead, you should go for something fast. You only need it for a moment.”

“L-Like a… bomb?”

He nods. “When you do magic, you collect your quintessence, quickly and efficiently, and usually you only need a small amount of it to do your task. Some take more, like harvesting crystals and healing, and others only a thought, like activating the particle barrier. However, what if you collected all of it?”  
  
“That would be _a lot_ of power.” She grins, blue eyes crinkling with mischief and understanding.

“Exactly.” He grins back. “And once you collect that, you can force it out of you in a wave that’ll be so strong it should counteract any opposing forces. It takes a lot out of you, so obviously don’t use this a lot, but the concept can be applied in smaller doses for a similar effect. When Thace and I were escaping Zarkon’s ship, I concentrated enough of my quintessence out through a kick that knocked out a group of droids. It took more work than most of what I do, but not enough to stop me in my tracks.”  
  
“The bomb would.” Allura guesses correctly.

“You’d remain conscious but your energy levels would be low enough, for long enough, that you wouldn’t be able to do much else, yes.”  
  
“And you think I’m strong enough to do this?” He is not used to hearing her doubt herself and for a moment, he wants to snarl and shake her shoulders. Silly girl, he thinks fondly.

“Allura,” He grabs her hands. “You’re probably the strongest I’ve ever met.”

“But you-?”  
  
“Am not an alchemist.” He smiles sadly. “My abilities are very specific and I have a lot of quintessence energy at my disposal, yes, but the things you could do?” He jerks his head at her paladin uniform. “Your father built Voltron from a space rock. Imagine what _you_ are capable of.”

She looks away and he knows she’s thinking of Lotor and Oriande. She is afraid of herself and her abilities and what it could mean, but he is not.

He knows, somehow, like he knows a lot of other things, that she will shape the rebirth of the worlds.

He cannot wait to see it.

* * *

  
  


Keith sets about making coffee. The drink is still new to him but he likes it. A lot. Hunk has been teaching him how to cook and bake lately. He likes to do this one thing.

Likes to do it for Shiro.

Shiro, who is looking at him, his face too calm for Keith’s liking.

“I spoke to Kolivan.” He says and already, Keith feels his body anchoring for a fight. “He told me my soulmark is galran. That you should know what it says.” His voice, despite the topic, is deceptively even. Keith grips the mug handle tight and continues to pour coffee.

Then, Shiro speaks again, still calm and soft. “Why didn’t you tell me what it says?”

Keith closes his eyes.

“I love you.” He confesses and the words aren’t what he meant to say but he doesn’t regret them. Doesn’t try and take them back. Shiro looks over at him, surprised and not all in the same face. “I have for a while, I think. I just… I didn’t feel like I was allowed to.”  
  
“Allowed?” Shiro repeats and he sounds so understanding, so sad and happy, and Keith wants to throw the coffee cup at him. Wants to kiss him too.

He shakes his head and laughs, tight and low. He hates how it reverts in his chest. “Allowed to love you. To be loved. I am… not good for you, Shiro. I have done horrible things. Am a horrible thing. You deserve so much more.”  
  
Shiro stands and Keith doesn’t dare to look up, to move. He feels Shiro step up to him, feels his hands reach out to grab a hold of Keith’s own, sees the coffee cup between them, now abandoned and forgotten but still hot and steaming.

“Keith,” Shiro whispers and his tone is so soft, so gentle and loving that he can’t do anything but look up and stare. “Keith. You are so good. So brave and kind and you’re my hero. There is no, absolutely no one, that is more deserving of love than you.”  
  
A sound wrenches itself from behind his ribs, it’s ugly and scratchy and it leaves his mouth before he can take it back. Shiro’s hand comes up and cups the side of his face. It’s the nicest touch he has ever had for Shiro cradles his face, holds him like he is something precious and treasured and for a second, just a second, he believes him.

“You do everything wholeheartedly.” Shiro goes on, still holding his face, holding him so Keith has to look into his eyes. “Why would love be the exception? I am… so beyond honoured that you, of all people, are my soulmate. Because even if you weren’t, I think it would always be you. I could never want anyone else. There could never be anyone else. You are… everything and so much more.”

“ _Oh_.” 

How can he argue that? How can he argue when Shiro looks at him like that, with so much conviction it aches? 

“I think,” Shiro continues, as if he hasn’t already decimated Keith’s heart into something unrecognizable “that you don’t realize I’m just as messed up, as broken as you. I’m not good either, Keith.”  
  
“You’re not broken!” He surprises himself with the vicious snarl that tears up through his teeth and, apparently, surprises Shiro too. “Bad things happened to you but that doesn’t make _you_ bad.”  
  
Shiro smiles down at him. “And why can’t the same be said for you?”

And oh… okay yeah,. Fine then.

“You shouldn’t love me.” He says instead and Shiro laughs, eyes bright and happy.

“Too bad,” he laughs again “because I already do. I’d like to keep doing so. Forever in fact.”  
  
“Yeah?” He breathes, looking up.

Shiro is so close, he can smell him so clearly, feel his heat. Their mouths are almost touching now. “Yeah.” He feels rather than sees Shiro’s mouth curve into a smile, pinching his eyes and making Keith’s breath stutter.

  
He doesn't take a full breath for awhile after that.  
  
  


Kissing is nice too, he finds. Almost as nice as dancing.

* * *

It ends like this:

The war is over.

Keith’s standing in his blade suit, staring over the horizon of Oriande, as Allura leans into Lotor and wraps him a hug. Lance looks on at them, a soft smile on his lips, but he doesn’t yet step over. Hunk is laughing, chatting with Shay as he takes a seat down next to a grinning and bruised Romelle. Kosmo is popping in and out of existence all over the place, surprising everyone with kisses and happy barks, while Pidge struggles to catch him, a grin on her face. Matt’s leaning over N-7, fixing her leg where wires are exposed and metal is bent, their faces close and voices way too quiet for him to hear. He doesn’t see him mom or Kolivan but there’s a few blades still here, besides himself, so he knows they’re around somewhere.

He smiles and for the first time in decaphoebes, he can finally breathe in peace.

Shiro steps up behind him, wrapping an arm around Keith’s waist, and he leans into the touch, resting his hand on the man’s shoulder and breathing in his scent.

“We did it.” Shiro smiles and Keith breathes again, clearer and easier than the one just before.

“Yeah,” He smiles into torn cloth. He cannot feel his connection anymore. There’s all this quintessence around him , saturating the air so thickly that he knows it should be suffocating, but he can’t feel any of it. Ever since he, Lotor, and Allura had tracked Honerva down to the old Altean legend (somehow before she had done anything), he hasn’t felt much at all. He fears he overdid it, that he’ll never feel his magic again, but it’s a small price to pay when it means Shiro can look at him now, like he does. “We did.”

Later, they can go back to earth, can help restore Altea and heal the colony. Later, they can go to that diner Shiro likes so much and they can have hamburgers and milkshakes. Later, Keith can make Shiro coffee again and taste it on him after. Later, they can talk about the scar and Honerva and the gladiator rings. Later, they can deal with all of this.

But right now they just want to hold each other, feel their soulmate close and alive, and breathe.

_Later,_ he promises _. Later he’ll remind Shiro he loves him._

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I've had the concept for this for awhile but it's finally come to life and in a way that I didn't expect at all. I really hope you like it K!!


End file.
